


Of Torment and Tantalisation

by witheredwings



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alpha Eskel (The Witcher), Alpha Jaskier | Dandelion, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Gentle Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt fights his omega side, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Omega Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Oxenfurt Academy, Plot!, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, beta shani, established friendship Jaskier & Eskel, no beta we die like witchers, slowest burn of all, sue me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witheredwings/pseuds/witheredwings
Summary: “I’m allowed to do anything. I can do whatever I want,” Geralt countered.That made Dandelion pause his movements and pull his head out of the cabinet. His bluebonnet eyes were on the warrior in front of him who was removing his trousers. There was a twinkle in his eyes.“Of course you are. And you should. But didn’t you like doing what I wanted, tonight, regardless?”****When Geralt and Dandelion agree to go back to Oxenfurt Academy, Geralt soon realizes he is not as able to withstand his nature as well as he thought he could.Because an Academy is a school. And any fool knowsonly Alphas and Betas attend school.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 121
Kudos: 306





	1. In which Geralt worries

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Follow You Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354230) by [kirk_spock_in_the_impala (ryokoyuy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryokoyuy/pseuds/kirk_spock_in_the_impala). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Right, so... I've been working hard on another piece of work but it's Corona time now and I really needed to do something less dramatic than my original work so... Fanfiction it was. I've been writing non-stop because I like this idea a lot. Here's to hoping you do, too.
> 
> Find me on tumblr http://aseriesoffunfortunateevents.tumblr.com !

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

The day had dawned gray and dreary. A constant drizzle had been their companion for weeks now as it had become fall and in the kingdom of Redania, fall came with rain. Worse than that, it came with mizzle and the occasional storm. Not that Geralt could not deal with those circumstances – after all, he had faced worse – but it did not improve the Witcher’s mood. Mainly due to Dandelion’s constant complaining about it.

Still, as Geralt made his way through Oxenfurt, he understood the sentiment. The cold water was accompanied by a harsh wind that whipped through the streets. It whipped the warmth right out of any creature. The streets were deserted as a result. Houses were boarded up, letting through only the sounds of merriment and warm candle light. In the air hung the deep smell of chimney smoke and prepared foods, though it was not yet time to sup. In fact, the inn was quiet and the market square was deserted; the few stalls that were set up had started packing.

As Geralt picked his way through the streets, he watched a merchant stumble on the slippery cobblestones. The day was tricky like that. Yet the merchant had not worried about the falling nearly as much as the sight of Geralt. The portly Beta man had paused, reeking of ashen fear and citrusy panic.

It was a difficult contradiction for any Witcher, being in a city. While Geralt appreciated the presence of ale and comfortable sleeping that they harbored, there was the unmistakable disadvantage of their prejudice. While travelling, the fighter had found that lengthy stays in towns had always backfired on him as a result of it.

Even now, while the warrior pulled his hood further down over his face as he led Roach, he could hear the man warn his help as he passed. Thankfully, that was all. Another side effect of the rain, Geralt supposed; less people to notice him.

Eluding them at all, however, would be impossible. He would be staying here for longer than he usually liked to stay in a city. He and Dandelion had received word from Shani about trouble at the Academy. At her wit’s end, she had decided to reach out to Geralt via magical means. Naturally, the Witcher could not leave her hanging, considering their history together.

Delighted, Dandelion had sent word to prepare the guest quarters in Oxenfurt Academy and would hear none of Geralt’s grumbling about sleeping on farmland nearby. The university was open-minded, the poet argued, and they would be able to sleep normally without paying coin. There was nothing the Witcher could counter with that made sense.

Nothing but the truth.

Because the truth was, Geralt was not just aware of the negative reaction of humans to him. The truth was, the warrior did not want to stay on the Academy grounds because it was a _school_.

And that meant it was Alpha and Beta territory.

Admittedly, Geralt had learned to withstand Alpha voices in his years of training. The man had learned to live with the pang of being a disappointment and had conquered his need to help Lambert and Eskel wherever possible. Long since had he learned to make peace with the fact that he would never be feeling wholly comfortable in his body. It did not matter to him anymore. He did not need to be good enough, after all. He needed to protect and serve, to follow the Path. There had never been another option.

Being able to withstand a few Alphas, though, was different from entering a hall filled with them. Throughout the months, he had been able to deal with Dandelion just fine – but a whole hall? A building?

It would be a true testament to his training if nothing were to happen.

His ability to resist Dandelion had already been a testament to it, in fact. Upon their initial meeting, Geralt had not seen the small, black vertical line behind his ear. Though it was widely considered an indecency to look for signs, most people glanced at them when they had the chance. Seeing as the Witcher and poet had met in a badly lit establishment, though, he had not realized. Besides, the bard had been annoying. He’d cared fuck all whether the man was an Alpha, Beta or Omega, as long as he got the hell away from him.

Later, though, when Dandelion had proven a companion, he had seen it.

It had surprised him, for he had unwittingly written Dandelion off as a Beta or Omega. Never had the man used his Alpha voice, flaunted his pheromones or behaved territorially. Sure, there were the occasional orders he gave but Geralt could easily withstand those. So the vertical line had given him a firm reminder that stereotypes were just that: stereotypes. Not all Alphas were arrogant, pompous pricks showcasing their signs.

Just like not all Omegas were helpless and obedient.

Geralt’s own sign had been altered, like all Witchers’ signs. Taught from a young age that these human preferences did not apply to them as their sole purpose was the purge and not reproduction, mentors had taken up needles and seared the Witcher wolf behind all of their ears. Geralt had had the wolf there for as long as he could remember. When asked about it, the warrior always replied he was a Witcher first, then an Alpha. As would all his brothers before and after him, the words ingrained in their memory. Being seen as potential bait made one’s position as a monster hunter weak. It would stop the steady flow of income. Besides, any Witcher that had made it through the trials was anything but weak.

So even though Geralt could stand his ground against _and among_ a number of Alphas, he sincerely hoped to be able to withstand the halls of the Academy.

Shaking his head as he turned up the street to an entrance of the Academy, Geralt cursed the situation. Of course he owed Shanti for all her help. He just wasn’t sure he owed her _this_.

Luckily, Eskel and he had had their half-year meeting a few weeks ago, as Witcher rituals prescribed. It was mandatory for Omega Witchers to partner up with a trusted Alpha Witcher. Once every half year they would help them drop by innocent means in order to maintain sanity. During winters, other Witchers would be asked to help get Omegas into subspace. The time in-between was spent… alone. It was spent gradually building up tension until the next session, in Geralt’s case, and becoming more and more sensitive to touch and smell.

At present, the Witcher had found his balance again. It was the only reason he had even considered coming here.

Deep in his ruminations, Geralt led Roach through the side entrance of the University. The brown-haired poet had told him the stables were to be found on this side. He had agreed to meet up with Dandelion after buying a new saddle, taking care of the horse and to wait for Shani in their rooms.

True to Dandelion’s word, none of the guards were surprised at seeing him, nor hearing his name, but they did share a look. A look and a stench, both of which the Witcher knew all too well.

Roach followed him obediently into the stables where a young boy brought them to a large stable.

With a grunt in reciprocation, Geralt sent the boy on its way. Methodically, he untied the bridle and reins from the horse and removed the saddle and saddlecloth. After inspecting her hooves, he rubbed her down with hay. Content, he stood back. Then looked at his pack for the longest time, sorting through any and all possibilities he had before he relocated.

Abruptly, he moved. He opened his pack and rooted through his bottles and herbs. If he were to get through this undetected, he would need a little bit more of a kick to his masking potion than normally.

He held up a blue bottle and sniffed it, like he did every morning. It still smelled like manure to him. In his hands he carefully mixed some herbs and added an extra pinch to the bottle, before sniffing it again. He took a small sip. Drab, like always.

A little stronger, so it also ought to stop people from wondering about his sexual preferences in general. Which was a good thing, Geralt figured.

After a long petting session, the warrior got his things together again and left his mare behind. On the way out he plied the stableboy to spoil her with some extra coin.

Outside, there were just as many people walking around as on the market square: barely any. A good sign, for now. The Witcher adjusted the two packs on his shoulders and headed towards the building Dandelion had indicated. He followed a path around a huge hall of sorts and would have to cross a square to the staff building.

He turned around the corner, then stopped in his tracks. His foot fell down on the ground with a thud. In the middle of the central square stood a small fountain with grass around it. It was filled to the brim with groups of friends sitting together and chatting. On the side there was a field where students were playing football and from the left building a new group of students had just emerged.

He breathed deeply. A wall of pheromones hit him. He stared at the amount of people.

_What the fuck had he gotten himself into._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a message!
> 
> While I edited this, I wondered if you have any tips as to my writing style? I am entering a serious Dutch writing contest and I wondered if you have any feedback that might help me progress (my English and Dutch writing styles are basically the same, so it still works that way)? Please do not butcher me in the comments ;)
> 
> Find me on tumblr @aseriesoffunfortunateevents !


	2. In which we meet Shani

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I struggle a bit with keeping Geralt and Dandelion in character! I'm reading the books and enjoying their interaction there (currently in Tower of Swallows, anyone?) but it's interesting that in the TV series Geralt barely says anything while here, Geralt is DEFINITELY talkative. Not about emotions though.  
> Anyway, enough rambling.
> 
> If fanfiction be the food of love, let it be read!

He’d met Dandelion in the entry hall of the building. The brown-haired bard had been playing his lute on a bench next to the reception area. Unwittingly, he had already drawn several receptionists from their rooms to oggle the famous Dandelion as he strummed a new melody that he had been working on.

Of course, the receptionists had given _him_ the stink eye when he came in, but Dandelion had jumped up excitedly.

“Geralt!” With open arms and a grand smile he walked up to Geralt and turned around. “Welcome to Oxenfurt Academy!”

Geralt grunted and took a look around. The hall was completely made of marble and all furniture was made of luxurious cherry oak. Behind the reception desk there were a great amount of keys hanging in a box, of which more than half were missing. More professors took up residence in the staff building, it seemed.

Dandelion stepped in front of him.

“Not to worry, I’ve procured ourselves the very best guest rooms. They were the last guest rooms, though, and it only features one bed. I said we’d make do – I mean, I could sleep on the floor.”

The witcher said nothing and frowned.

Curiously, he peered at Dandelion as said bard led the way past the reception into a hall. The statement did not make sense. Next to the fact that Dandelion has insisted on comfort and sleeping here, Dandelion was the Alpha. The Omega inside Geralt wanted to serve as best he could by sleeping on the floor himself. It was only logical he would, he argued internally. He was used to the floor and ground– and his comfort was less important than Dandelion’s.

Instead of saying anything, though, Geralt ground his teeth together. It would not do to comment on this in a public area – let alone comment at all.

It did not matter. In front of him, Dandelion went on and whistled a tune.

Ignorant of Geralt’s internal battle, Dandelion lugged his own pack on one shoulder and tapped his lute against the other. He was pointing out sights and specific memorabilia from the building to Geralt as they made their way to a staircase. He would frequently stop and smile back at Geralt, checking that he had spotted a statue of a previous chancellor of the school or the corner where Dandelion had first kissed. In his defense, Geralt was not asked for a response, as usual. So he just listened.  
He had learned Dandelion did not need any responses in order to hold a conversation. It was an odd trait for an Alpha, to be as talkative as Dandelion was. Still, it suited the bard.

They ascended the stairs where they met a servant. He bowed to both of them, and Geralt raised his hand to make the man stop, but Dandelion overruled him and gracefully asked the servant to rise. When asked what he could do, Dandelion urged the servant to get the cook to make them a platter of bread and some cold cuts of cheese and meat. In the following hallway, Dandelion turned his head to Geralt.

“The man is being payed to be humble and bow. We might as well let him.”

“You’re being paid for just singing, and that is all you do. That man is paid to serve us, so that is all that is needed,” Geralt pointed out. “Besides, nobody should be bowing to a Witcher.”

Dandelion frowned.

“First of all, you have saved more humans than I can count. You deserve respect. Second of all, _rude_. I offer many services.”

“Services,” the Witcher repeated drily.

It was not a secret that Dandelion had had many Omega admirers, both of his arts and his physique. Recently, though, there had been less and less. Not that Geralt had noticed.

Dandelion slapped his shoulder repeatedly.

“I. Am. _Trying_. To. Be. Nice. Here.”

The Witcher rolled his eyes as they came to a stop in front of an oak door. It was enormous and golden numbers on the front of the door told them they were in front of room 47.

Scraping his throat after his very adult behaviour, Dandelion got the key out of his pocket and opened the door for both of them. Yelling out a loud ‘tada’, Dandelion looked into the room together with Geralt. None of them moved to step inside. Dandelion courteously offered Geralt the option to go first.

Hesitant, Geralt looked at the bard, because, well.. wasn’t this Dandelion’s den?

The bard looked at him oddly when it look longer than a second.

Bashing in his reflex to let the Alpha go in first, Geralt forced himself to move and entered the room. His shoulders were tense as he did so, as was his face.

The room was huge. Near the entry there was a coat rack, followed by a cosy sitting area with a few couches and a fireplace. A pitcher of ale and some mugs had been put out on the table. Behind that, near the window, was a huge four-poster bed with curtains against the drafts and sunlight. On the opposite wall from the fireplace there were rather a few cupboards and bookcases and a desk to write on.

“The bathroom is to the right, come, take a look,” Dandelion rambled and ran to the bathroom. Inside there was a huge bathtub with tap next to it. “We have running water here! Oh, and the dining hall is downstairs. We can have food brought up, too, though. What do you think?”

The Witcher shrugged, having dropped his packs and cloak next to the couch so as to not soil anything. It did not relieve the tension he was feeling about the whole situation, nor the sense of foreboding he had about being at the Academy in general.  
He was trying to undo a clasp of his armor as he followed Dandelion around tensely.

As he stilled at the entrance of the bathroom, Geralt looked around it inquisitively. There were no buckets, anywhere. He turned around to look at Dandelion.

“How do we get hot water up here?”

A huge smile graced Dandelion’s face. Apparently, he had been waiting for that question.

“It’s already here,” Dandelion grinned. He threw open his arms as he stood in front of the fourposter. “This is Oxenfurt Academy: the water from the tap is hot! Can you believe it, hot water at our beck and call!”

With a theatrical sigh, Dandelion dropped his pack and lute and fell back upon the bed. The move made a corner of Geralt’s mouth turn up in fondness, but he refrained from fully smiling. Best not give the man more incentive for theatrics.

Dandelion came up on his elbows and looked over. His blue met Geralt’s amber. Dandelion’s blouse fell open at the odd position he was in and Geralt glanced at the lean figure underneath it, before forcing his eyes away.

“So?”

Geralt finally managed to unclasp his armor and peeled off his shoulder piece. He put it on the floor next to the righthand side of the bed. He would clean and oil it later.

“I still think we should have camped outside town,” he said after some consideration. Then turned his attention to his other shoulder piece.

Dandelion pouted.

“Don’t you think you should treat yourself once in a while, though? It’s free.”

“A Witcher does not need this amount of excess,” Geralt explained. Then gave in a bit. “Though the hot water is nice.”

A huff came from Dandelion’s side of the bed. Geralt looked up and saw Dandelion was still looking at him from his position on the bed. The Witcher’s shoulders tensed.

Dandelion seemed disappointed. It stung.

“Well, maybe it is not about needing but about deserving. I happen to think you deserve this, too.”

With a mighty heave he got himself off the bed and joined the Witcher next to it, flapping his hands at Geralt so his hands would retreat. The Witcher steadily returned his gaze and kept his hands where they were.

“Here, let me do this. I can see it, at least.”

“I can do it just fine. You’ll ruin it.”

Besides, he was a Witcher. He didn’t need help. Witchers didn’t need anyone to care for them. They weren’t… Omega.

“Geralt, how could I ruin it if a monster can’t even put a dent in it.”

“I can do it. I’ve done this a thousand times-”

“So what. I want to do it, today.”

His hands gently pulled at Geralt’s hands. At first, Geralt resisted. Then when Dandelion opened his mouth to complain some more, he relented.

Besides, maybe it was okay to give Dandelion this one thing. Knights were known to have servants to take off their armor, whether they were Alpha, Beta _or_ Omega. It did not mean anything if he were to get some help from Dandelion, strictly speaking.

Ignorant of Geralt’s worries, Dandelion started to pry at the knots and clasps of his other shoulder piece. When he had gotten it off he passed it to Geralt to put on the floor on his other side. He moved on to the gauntlets, pulled them off of Geralt’s hands and started humming a tune.

As Geralt let Dandelion go about the work, he let his hands drop. It was… nice. Dandelion’s hands were not too forceful with him and he seemed to pause at each piece he worked on, giving the Witcher the time to object. But he never did, caught in the thrall of the hands removing the pieces of armor and rubbing the skin underneath. Geralt always did so too, to get the bloodflow working again. He had not suspected Dandelion would, though.

Everywhere his hands rubbed, his skin warmed and the tautness of his muscles faded away. Slowly, his tense shoulders fell down, too.

It felt good. It felt like Dandelion was praising him without speaking and that made no sense to Geralt at all. Still, with the combination of the touch and Dandelion’s Alpha smell he slowly felt the tendrils of subspace reach out from his subconscious.

When he realized they were there, he groaned and beat them down hard. _Fuck_.

Dandelion ignored any sounds and pulled the Witcher’s chest piece of draconic leather over his head. When he dropped it to the floor, Dandelion put his hands on his hips and nodded contentedly. 

“All done.”

Not trusting his voice, Geralt nodded in thanks, decidedly not looking at Dandelion. He moved on to remove his boots, breeches and his shirt. When he was in his smalls, Dandelion stepped back and pointed at the clothes with a grimace.

“You better wash those, too.”

“Hm?”

“Geralt, I can not only smell that you have been near a horse for weeks, I can almost deduce its race and age, too. And that says something _for a human_.”

Geralt sniffed himself and agreed with Dandelion.

“Huh. Fine.”

Grabbing his clothes, he dumped them in the corner of the bathroom for later and turned on the tap. The fact that it was indeed hot water impressed Geralt. Carefully he rooted through his pack for his spare set of clothes and walked back into the bathroom. When Dandelion made to follow, Geralt stopped and glared at him.

Baffled, Dandelion sat back on the bed and held up his hands.

“I thought you might want me to do your hair.”

Honestly, that would have been a good idea. Dandelion was a magician when it came to Geralt’s hair. Subspace was still close by, though, and Geralt could not go down that road again without giving in. He would have to make do without Dandelion.

“Someone has to be here for Shani in case she comes by. I’ll be quick.”

He closed the door behind him.

“I’d rather you be _thorough_!”

Geralt rolled his eyes as he sank down into the hot water with the soap.

* * *

As always, baths helped Geralt clear his head. It gave him time to think through what had happened. He had chastised himself mentally for giving in to his nature, if only briefly. Of course he had felt tense and worried about the coming contract, but he knew Dandelion did not care for that. The man had simply tried to help a friend. The Alpha had wanted to help another, as an Alpha was wont to do.

Thus Geralt had come to the decision that he would have to be careful around Dandelion the following days. The bard had become a companion, but even if Geralt’s instincts told him the bard was to be trusted, that did not mean he could give in to the bard’s every whim. After all, Dandelion had no clue what the repercussions would be.

Indeed, the Witcher would have to take great care. Being around so many Alphas would be taxing and Geralt knew it would cause him stress. In order to not expose himself, he had to lay some ground rules for himself regarding his interaction with the bard. He got to three.  
  
One, no touching from this point onwards.  
Two, no sniffing his pheromones.  
Three, he would, under no circumstances, share the bed with Dandelion.

Besides that, it seemed smart to take matters of the mission into his own hands and create as little interaction with huge groups of Alphas as possible. He could not be exposed, now. It would defeat the point of his training for years and would decimate his reputation. Besides, Vesemir had told him the fate of Witchers depended on it. 

* * *

“…. So I walked back into the room, only to find a whole stack of documents missing. No sign of forced entry, no windows open…. And when I asked my secretary, she told me that I had just walked out with a bunch of papers, telling her I would be right back.”

Shani’s short red hair moved as she threw her head and hands in the air. Her mug of ale stood on the table, untouched.

“But I am telling you, I never took them. Turned my whole house upside down for them, too, but found nothing. That was two weeks ago. Last week, I apparently made an official complaint about one of my colleagues who teaches Genetics. Allegedly my person would have stormed into the office of my chancellor yelling the man had made huge orders of materials that did not exist and had therefore stolen money from the Academy. And so he has been asked to stay in his rooms for now, pending investigation. At this point, I contacted you.”

The red-haired dean paced the room. Geralt and Dandelion shared a look, both reminded of Dudu, the Doppler they had encountered in Novigrad.

“Now, this in itself was all rather innocent. Yet yesterday, the fiend struck again! The money that my Genetics professor had stolen according to myself, has been invested in a biological fuel startup by myself- So. Basically, I have invested money in shit!”

At this, Dandelion chuckled and even Geralt could not stop from grinning. With a loud oomph Shani sat down on the couch. She could not help but laugh at her own joke a little, too, but then she threw herself back against the backrest of the couch. The horizontal Beta line behind her ear was on display.

“I would not have asked you to come, but… I cannot catch the imposter. My superiors have started to doubt my abilities and all my responsibilities save for teaching have been suspended. It is impossible for me to nose around since people are suspicious of me, now. Besides, I have to stay indoors as much as possible, with witnesses, or nobody will believe my theory when something else happens. I’d have to be in two places at once, after all, to do something again. So I asked the chancellor to let me hire you.”

Geralt leaned forward and his elbows rested on his knees.

“And what is your theory, exactly, Shani?”

Both guests listened attentively to the Beta as she confirmed what they had thought, too.

“Someone is impersonating me. Fuck me if I knew how, but they’re doing a good job.”

A nod from Geralt confirmed her worst fears.

“That’s possible?”

Geralt pondered the situation for a moment.

“It is. We met a doppler not too long ago in Novigrad. They are rare, but they exist. I suggest we catch yours – I am not in the habit of killing intelligent beings,” Geralt answered. Shani agreed wholeheartedly, saying her reputation was at stake anyhow. “Good. Now, your victims have been… paperwork, a professor and funding. Correct?”

A nod.

“Technically. In the end, though, the biggest victim has been myself.”

“It must be someone who despises you,” Dandelion mused. He reached out to the table, where a platter of bread and cheese had been laid out. “A student, perhaps?”

Shani glared at him but after a while threw up a hand and relented.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“We have to rule it out. We could join your classes?”

Geralt frowned. No, _no_. No- that was definitely not smart. No, he would not be sitting in a classroom full of Alphas. Not if it were up to him.

“It could also be a fellow teacher,” the Witcher reminded them. “We should attend a staff meeting, first.”

Both humans mused over that and agreed. Shani looked at the sun that was setting outside.

“Thing is, the next staff meeting is in two days. I teach tomorrow, though. At ten. It the first of two classes I still teach.”

Fuck.

“Then it’s settled. First the class, then the meeting. Maybe the other class? We should rule out the students as well, right, Geralt?”

With gritted teeth, Geralt consented, because they were right. _Fuck Fuck Fuck_.

The discontent of the Witcher was obvious. From the corner of his eyes, Dandelion saw the tightened jaw and glare at the ground. Figuring it was due to Geralt’s sensitivity in terms of smell and hearing, plus his general character, he stood up and paced the room.

“Right. We should find a way to investigate as many people as possible. I suggest I become your assistant, Shani, and Geralt here a student. That way he will be able to sit in the back alone and rule out students, not amid the chatter and conundrum, while I am among the students with a silver chain and subtly touch students with it. Dopplers cannot handle silver.”

“It is a practical lesson, though. I’ll be conducting an exemplary experiment.”

Dandelion waved his hand in indifference and Geralt pursed his lips as he considered Dandelion’s idea. At least if he was in the back, he would get a reprieve from the pheromones, he hoped.

“Fine. We’ll be there before class commences.”

Relieved, Shani raised her mug to that admission. Dandelion and Geralt joined and drank with her. Soon after, Shani had to leave to tell the chancellor they had agreed to the job and stood. From where she put on her cloak, she looked down at Geralt’s head.

She made a noise.

“Still as bad at washing your hair as ever, I see.”

The Witcher’s head whipped around and he glared at her. With a gleeful chuckle, Shani left the room. After waving, Geralt turned back around. 

Dandelion was giving him a pointed look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think about it, please!
> 
> p.s. Find me on tumblr @aseriesoffunfortunateevents !


	3. In which the Witcher joins class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without further ado!

The following morning the Witcher woke up on his bedroll and the extra duvet Dandelion insisted he sleep on. It was still early. Yawning and stretching out, Geralt listened for the sounds of a manor waking up around him. He had not often slept in such huge manors and it interested him. His acute hearing caught the chef pattering around downstairs while here and there, the pipes with warm water creaked due to being used. Further down the hall, a professor was reciting a text to himself with a balanced rhythm.

The house was peaceful. Outside, the sun had peeked through the clouds and the Witcher could see some birds flitting around in front of the huge windows. There were dark skies fast approaching, though, so the sun would not be there for long. 

Geralt put one of his hands behind his head. His other lay on his exposed chest and his thumb rubbed it as he watched the old coffered ceiling above him. So far, the buildings and rooms of the Academy had continued to be as extravagant as they had been the first time he visited it. He had been here shortly, that time, meeting up with Dandelion to go after Rience. He had met Shani then. After a short initial meeting, she had given them a huge lead. While looking into it, Geralt had shared her bed. Platonically, without any subspace involved.  
Still, the meeting yesterday had gone better than he had foreseen. After all, she did not refer to it once and Dandelion… Dandelion had only sneered about their previous relations once.

It had hurt slightly, but Geralt did not mind it. It _had_ turned out to be an inconvenient time to be having sex. Still, he could overcome his Omega identity by rationalizing that he knew Dandelion was being a hypocrite after the amount of sleeping around the bard had done. He had been caught with his pants around his ankles in worse situations.

Although… It had to be said that those instances had been few and far apart, lately. In fact, Geralt had not seen Dandelion take up an offer of an Omega for quite some time now. The Witcher idly wondered about that and when his train of thought led to how Dandelion would treat his Omegas in bed, he coughed and sat up abruptly.  
The Witcher thumped his chest a good few times.

Nope. Definitely not going there. Not at all.

The Witcher shook his head, got up, moved to the bathroom where he washed up and took his daily potion. Dressed for a regular day he returned to the room, where he saw Dandelion was still asleep. He was on the bed and had kicked all the blankets away as he often did at night. Dandelion was a notorious worrywart and was known to turn a lot before he fell asleep. It had kept the Witcher up on more than one occasion and even led to some disagreements. In the mornings it always led to a cold Dandelion, though, shivering without his blankets. 

His brown hair was fanned out around him on the pillow and his cheeks were rosy. Geralt could not help thinking that the bard had nice skin. It had goosebumps, though, so as the Witcher put his bedroll in the corner, he absentmindedly put the extra duvet over the bard. The man sighed happily and tugged the duvet closer. Geralt felt an ember of satisfaction heat up when it happened.

Dammit. He should not have done that.

Growling at himself he walked out of the door to see how Roach was doing. It was always the first thing he did in the morning, a ritual of sorts.

Luckily all the gods were merciful as Geralt only encountered two people on his way there: the receptionist and the stableboy. He was surprised the first one did not hiss at him outright, but the stableboy surprised him more by being rather laid back. He was refreshing hay in two stalls as Geralt passed and he waved at him as he whistled a tune. An oddly humane way of behaving.

The Witcher grunted in return.

As his footsteps echoed through the stable, Roach’s head appeared. The mare whinnied happily when she saw her rider. When he got close, she nosed around his pockets for the fruit that he would usually give her in the morning, but the man held up his hands in defeat.  
He’d not been able to find anything in the room. Besides, he had not seen any treats in the stable. The stableboy was bound to have some, though, so he was sure she would not going hungry. In lieu of feeding her, then, he decided to treat her by giving her a bath, too.

On the far side of the stable, the boy was still cleaning out the stable and whistling. Geralt was on his way to ask the boy for soap and a sponge, when he spotted them at the service area of the stable. There was a bucket, too, but no tap. Outside there was a huge trough, though, so Geralt dunked it there and walked back inside with his supplies.

He led Roach out of her stable to an area with a gutter and got to work.

The process of washing Roach was mind-numbing and the only thing Geralt could think about, really, was the song the boy kept whistling. It seemed familiar, but he did not remember where he’d last heard it. Must have been the bard, Geralt figured. He applied the soap to Roach’s coat.  
He’d never known as many melodies as he did now. His fellow Witchers in Kaer Morhen had complained about the same condition ever since Dandelion had joined them last winter.

Still, the memories of the winter made Geralt smile gently.

When he had thoroughly lathered Roach with soap, he let the water from the bucket trickle over Roach’ sides the way she liked it. The mare was not skittish by any means, but she disliked a whole bucket being thrown at her. Since Geralt also mightily disliked being thrown off the next time he sat in the saddle, he had complied with her preferences ever since that first time.

As Geralt moved back to the trough in the front, he heard the sound of hooves. He took the side entry to the trough and got some new water. One more bucket after this ought to do the job. Inside, he heard two loud men discuss matters as their horses trotted into the stable.

Not paying attention to the new arrivals, Geralt continued pouring water over roach and rinsing her off. She enjoyed it and snorted only once, which was when he let the water drip over her nose. After the bucket was empty, Geralt went to fill his last bucket of water. When he got to the trough, he encountered one of the men who had been talking. The man had been filling up another bucket of water and looked up at him. Geralt did not need to: one fleeting look was enough. The man was buff, large and had the hair on the side of his head trimmed. Geralt wasn’t necessarily sure, but considering the man and his behaviour, he figured it was to showcase his Alpha sign.

“Ah, I was told there would be a new stable boy! An odd one, aren’t you? Still, I see you’re already washing horses,” the man observed. He sniffed the air, then his voice took on a commanding tone. “Wash Clintus today, too.”

 _Definitely_ an Alpha.

Geralt did not respond except for frowning at his bucket. He knew he was dressed poorly for a university, but surely he did not look like a stable boy? When Geralt’s bucket was filled, he met the man’s eyes evenly and without comment. There was a huge amount of Alpha pheromones in the air. The man was silent and the Witcher went inside again.

From where he stood as he cleaned Roach, Geralt of Rivia watched the other man join his friend and care for his horse. Or barely care for his horse, as far as Geralt was concerned. They did not even rub down their horses. Pompous bastards.  
The Witcher knew better than to comment, though. A normal human remarking upon a thing was provoking enough, let alone him. For him it would result in an all-out fight, which did not fit the low profile he was keeping at the Academy. Still, he was a firm believer that to be allowed to ride a horse you should actually care for the horse.

His musings had caused him lose track of what he was doing. Accidentally, Geralt splashed Roach with a wave of water. Irritated, the horse protested. With a loud snort she pushed against the Witcher and pushed the bucket away.

Geralt had not expected it.

The Witcher ended up drenched, sputtering unintelligibly until he had finally put the bucket down on the floor. He reprimanded Roach foully. In front of him, Roach whinnied in mock laughter. 

Tsking at her insolence, Geralt removed his shirt to wring it out. The Witcher glared at Roach, as if to blame her.

Then, there was a sound behind him.

“Ah, I was just coming to check if you wouldn’t forget to wash Clintus, but man was I in for a show,” the voice sounded amused. “ _Quite_ a show. It doesn’t disagree with me.”

When the Witcher looked around, he saw the Alpha from before eyeing him. _Bloody hell_. He must have drawn the wrong conclusion, seeing Geralt take care of his horse.  
Not hastening or giving any indication of being intimidated, Geralt put on the shirt again.

“Fair enough. In any case, you seem to know what you’re doing, stable boy. **Wash my horse next, will you**.”

With a frown, Geralt looked from the man to the stables behind him: his friend had left the premises. The stableboy was still whistling, somewhere. The Witcher looked at the man again. What a disgusting figure, using his Alpha voice to corner someone like that. Yet it still felt like pinpricks on his back as Geralt stood his ground and faced the man.

“If you’re offering me coin to do so, fine. Otherwise, I must decline. I am not a stable boy and it is quite cold, today.”

In a sign of overt dominance, the man cocked his head to the side in such a way that his Alpha sign was on display. Geralt, who was still recovering from the man’s earlier command, inwardly flinched. This man was not subtle.  
What started as local pinpricks was now spreading over his body as the man had thrown more power into the gesture.

The man growled and stepped closer to him. A mere two steps separated them.

“Such audacity. Who are you to talk to the a Baron this day,” he snapped. “ **Come over here, now _._** ”

Now the man was irritating him. It was not just the Alpha voice now, no, the general behaviour the man was portraying did not sit right with him. _Fuck this bastard_. Geralt snarled and formed a fist with his right hand. This man needed to be taken down a peg or two.

With a furious face, the Witcher stepped out to hit the man.

Before he could raise his hand, though, Dandelion stepped into the stable. He entered via the side entrance and looked around. He shouted at them happily.

“Geralt! I figured you’d be here instead of the breakfast room!”

The man looked around, confusion on his face as he looked from Dandelion to Geralt. He stared at the lute protruding from Dandelion’s back as the man promenaded past him.

“A lute?” A realization made the man’s eyes widen. “… A bard? Dandelion?”

With a flourish and a huge grin, Dandelion turned around and bowed. He had a bowl in one hand, which he skillfully managed to keep upright.

“A fan! Such a delight, I encounter you guys when I never expect it,” he began and extended his hand. The man shook it, visibly put off his game. When Dandelion looked over at Geralt and saw his clenched fist and furious face, he stepped between them. “Alas, we must hurry. Requests are for some other time, I’m afraid. The Chancellor has asked me for a guest lecture next week, so I will see you there, perhaps?”

As Dandelion said so he cocked his head to the side pointedly.

The man gulped and nodded.

“Good. See you then, my friend!”

He waved at the man. Only when he had gone completely did Dandelion’s shoulders sag down. With a nimble twist, he turned around and put his free hand on his hip.

“Right,” he recovered when he saw the Witcher stretch his hand again. “Well, it is a quarter past nine. High time we ate something and got on our way.”

The Witcher said nothing. Dandelion shrugged and passed him the bowl with two spoons in it.

“Be like that. Here, it’s porridge.”

Without wondering about his reaction, Dandelion walked over to Roach.

Still mute, Geralt looked at the porridge in the bowl in his hands. He gazed at the retreating form of the man and Dandelion next to him. It was a small miracle, he decided, that that had ended the way it had.  
  
Baffled, the Witcher sat down on a stool nearby. He watched Dandelion lose his jacket, raise the bucket on the floor with a grunt and finish Geralt’s work on Roach. It took him a few minutes.  
  
In the meantime, the pinpricks on Geralt’s skin faded away. They made way for a feeling of warmth as he looked at the bowl of porridge. It had nuts in it and honey, just the way Dandelion liked. Still, Dandelion had thought of him when he had brought the food because he added a spoon. The Witcher ate silently.

The bard did not heed him at all. Satisfied with his results, Dandelion patted Roach’s head, reaching in his pockets.

“Such good behaviour,” Dandelion praised. The tone of voice made Geralt look up and watch intently. It triggered something in him.  
In front of him, Roach’s ears pricked forward and Dandelion rubbed his hands over her nose affectionately.

“That deserves a treat, don’t you think so?”

Roach snorted loudly as if to agree, and Dandelion chuckled in response. From his stool, Geralt could not help but grin at the behaviour of the horse, too. Especially when she started nosing his righthand pocket and pushing at the bard.  
Content, Geralt settled back against the wall of the stable with a small smile.

“Oh, all right. Here you go.”

Out of his luxuriously patterned pants appeared two small slices of apple. The horse stood very still as Dandelion held them up. Followed him eagerly into the only empty stall and then whinnied when Dandelion tricked her by walking away. The bard returned with a smile and Roach happily munched on his apple before long.  
When he closed the door behind him, he sat down next to Geralt.

“As for you, my friend, I advise you to stay out of trouble before noon, at least,” he chided Geralt and smiled.

Then he reached over and ate some porridge with the second spoon. The Witcher said nothing and shook his head. He was still not over what had just happened. Instead, he grinned at the bard.

“Never change, Dandelion.”

* * *

The Oxenfurt Academy was one of the most renowned Academies in the world. Its only rival was the Imperial Academy of Nilfgaard, which only differed from the Academy in the fact that it only admitted Alphas. Oxenfurt was rather new-age with its admittance of Betas, for an Academy. It had been one of the decisions of King Vizimir II to enhance the education of his citizens and therefore he had expanded all higher education to Betas. Omegas were allowed to go to primary school, but their education stopped there. Bar the occasional in-home tutors, of course.

Sadly, Kaer Morhen’s School of the Wolf did not offer those. What Kaer Morhen did offer, though, was training, more training, literacy and workshops. The latter were of a different kind than those the Academy offered; they featured survival skills, potion-making and hunting. For those Witchers who were interested, there were books in the library. Eskel and Geralt had been the only recent Witchers to frequently make use of the library, though. It was not a popular destination since most other Witchers did not have the patience to read through a book. Yet books had always fascinated Geralt. Not merely the instructive books, but also the speculating ones on morals and ethics. Reading them had made him convinced that a Witcher should step out of cases where ethics were involved too much. When there was a choice between evil and a lesser evil, Geralt decided he would never make a choice in order to maintain the image Witchers did not play the political field.

He had argued about this for long nights in front of the fire with Eskel and Dandelion, last winter. The latter had read most of the works too and Eskel knew a Witcher’s agonies like no other, so the conversations proved interesting. At points they had gotten out books and recited from them.

Now that Geralt was joining a class at Oxenfurt Academy, however, he understood how different his education had been to that of the wealthy. The textbook Shani had passed to him and Dandelion before class had featured theoretical knowledge on medicine and some experiments at the end of the book. Between the chapters there were assignments that apparently, the students were to finish for the next session. The book was informative and Geralt had opened it as he sat in the back of the classroom, browsing the chapter Shani had indicated. It was apparently what they would be discussing, today.

True to form, he was not the only one with the book. All the students that entered the hall were holding the book under their arms and put it on display on their tables as they sat down behind the semicircle of tables surrounding the lectern. As they had walked in, Dandelion had still been helping Shani set up. Geralt had taken the opportunity to consider each student as they joined the class. There were forty students in total, the Witcher had counted. None of them had seemed particularly flighty or worried about being there. They’d all joined with fellow pupils and most had been laughing boisterously at one joke or another.

Now, fifteen minutes into the lecture, nothing had changed. All students, including Shani and Dandelion, looked at ease in the classroom. After his initial introduction there had been some questions for Dandelion, but he had gracefully deferred them until later and pleaded for focus on the subject, for now. It was a side of Dandelion that the Witcher did not see often. The bard knew this, for he winked at Geralt afterwards.  
The Witcher had rolled his eyes in response.

So far, so good, though. Geralt had had a chance to see all the students from his point of view. None of the students behaved suspiciously from what Geralt could see and Shani had done roll call to ensure they were complete. None of the students had reacted oddly to Geralt being there as a new introduction, either, and Dandelion had actually already passed a few desks and pupils with his silver bracelet, but naught happened. It seemed that this was not the class with the culprit, but Geralt did not want to assume where he could be sure. So, he stayed.

The pressure on him had not been too enormous, up until now. There had been a large amount of Alpha pheromones in the air but Geralt had quickly found out that breathing through his mouth helped in that regard. Like that, the pressure was less overwhelming and besides, since there were no demands to adhere to, the Omega in him felt restless but not overtly so. The students themselves behaved perfectly.

After twenty minutes, Shani told the class to rise and follow her into the next room, where they would be watching the experiment from around her. It would take place in a room with circular steps all the way down to a class cabinet, where Shani would be working. That way all students would be able to see the experiment well. A good opportunity, Geralt had argued during preparations, for Dandelion to work his way through the group with his silver bracelet. It would eliminate more students. During this session, Geralt was to stand at the edge of the group, next to the door. He would look out for odd behaviour. If it occurred, he could point Dandelion to potential suspects.

As discussed, the group of students moved around the glass cabinet that Shani entered to conduct her experiment. The subject of the day had been hygiene to protect specifically against influenza. So far, the class had read the chapter and they were now conducting the experiment mentioned in the book. Most of the people surrounding the glass cabinet were holding the aforementioned book as they watched. It was silent as they observed Shani enter the cabinet.

Absent-mindedly, Geralt marvelled at the amphitheatre style.

Behind the glass, Shani started explaining the use of the experiment. The subject for the experiment of the first year course, had been hygiene and thus: soaps.

“Right, so what do we need, according to the book?”

Left and right, students started responding.

“Water!”

“Something salty, right?”

“Which page, miss?”

“A heat source!”

The pillar of patience, Shani repeated the page number and praised the students who mentioned the salt and heat.

“Right, Tommen, you get the burner for me from over there. Right, so… which ingredients?”

There was a conundrum on the side as Tommen gave the burner to Shani and then dropped his book on the floor. Many students responded to Tommen’s poorly executed turn and as they collected the book and the notes from the floor, there was a lot of sound. Meanwhile, diligent students responded to Shani. There was a lot of sound, though, so people could barely be heard.

“Water!!”

“You need something fat!”

“Oh well in that case Anica- OW!”

“Miss, it says here you need- **get some lye out!** “

Geralt flinched at the deep Alpha voice. The small pinpricks on his back reappeared – more annoying now than they had been earlier that day. Inwardly he steeled himself for more.

“Yeah, get the lye!”

“It says here… miss, **a liquid oil from the cabinet.** “

“ **Over in the left cabinet, and grab a saucepan!** ”

He locked his jaw. The pinpricks were breaking out over his whole body. He breathed through his nose shortly, then felt the pinpricks break out even more. The Alpha stench was overwhelming, now.

“And what do we do next,” Shani asked.

“ **Heat the lye and mix it with water!** ”

At that point, all students started screaming directions at Shani in their Alpha voices to be heard. It was a wall of sound, with gravelly voices and the Amphitheatre-shape of the classroom enhanced it all. The Witcher dug his nails into the book he was holding as he stood. His mouth opened as he listened, overwhelmed.

“Bloody Hell,” he murmured.

The pinpricks had left the building and a steady pounding in his head had begun. It felt like his brain was being torched. Geralt stayed still, but only because of years of training. His focus was on his breathing. Looking down, he counted his breaths.  
Alpha pheromones were pouring over him and he could not help but be affected. He felt so – he could not – _Damn it all_.  
Inside he was yearning to jump forward and help Shani, follow the commissions of the people around them. Every letter of their command he wanted to follow. The fact that he didn’t, no, _couldn’t_ , made him sway where he was standing. It was wrong. It felt so, _so_ wrong.

He had to move, he had to do something. They would never approve of him like this. There would be repercussions if he didn’t follow through, and they would be – they would be justified. He had to follow the rules, after all. He had to care, help, make life easier for another.  
_Not stand here and wait!_

Even so, he did. Until the experiment ended.

Hell, even as he felt his nails break skin in his clenched left hand, Geralt was a rock. The commands flew past him and flayed his skin, wracked his nerves as he breathed in and out. The pinpricks had become brutal cuts in his being and they were not stopping. It was all Geralt could do to focus on deep breathing and relaxing his muscles. Anything else would have broken him.  
Indeed, he was not looking for suspects anymore. He was looking for a way out of this. Mentally, he thought of excuses to leave the room. None seemed logical, though. In a final attempt to pull himself together he bit his tongue, but only tasted copper and felt none of the pain. It was nothing compared to what was going on inside, after all.

For the longest time, the only sound he could hear was the breath rushing through his body and the commands that were being issued. Then, there was blessed silence.

The Witcher closed his eyes.

It was only when the class had been dismissed that he opened them again. Only to immediately close them again against the harsh light from the windows. His hypersensitivity to light made the pain inside him flare up again. There was no other option than to suffer through it if he did not want to attract any attention.

Squaring his jaw, Geralt slowly opened his eyes. It was pure agony.

Shani was cleaning up in the corner. The ingredients were gone already and Dandelion was holding the soap bar she’d made in reverence. They had been discussing something, but Geralt could not focus enough to hear about what. Then Dandelion helped by clearing the other classroom before walking back in.  
With a loud voice, he continued the discussion. This time, Geralt could hear him. He insisted they escort her to her rooms across campus. When he asked Geralt for an opinion, the man did not respond. He did not trust himself to speak. Instead, the Witcher looked at his book to create a semblance of still being at ease.

Dandelion cocked his head at Geralt. When no other reaction followed, he continued helping Shani.

When the classroom was sufficiently clean, they left via the extra hallway door and Geralt followed the two alumni. He breathed out his relief as he joined them. Shani ushered them out of the room and closed the door behind him, explaining there would be a new lesson by another teacher, now.  
  
When Geralt walked out, there was a bright hallway on the other side.

It was teeming with students.

The Witcher stopped in his tracks. The students were chatting and there were some of them who were using their Alpha voice to one another. Neither Dandelion nor Shani paid it any attention. They made their way through the crowd. There was even a whistling sound that sounded suspiciously like the bard.

Behind them, Geralt did not move. It was too much. The bright lights to his eyes, the sound for his hearing and the Alpha for his – for his being. It grated against him and seemed to rip open the wounds that had slowly begun recovering. The Witcher took a moment to compose himself at the door. Just a moment, he thought. It would not be too weird if he’d taken a moment and saw them outside. As long as he didn’t take too long.

He forgot how observant the bard was in his equation, though.

A worried Dandelion had glanced back. The behaviour of Geralt had not seemed right to him before. Sure enough, when he looked back, there was no Witcher. Telling Shani they would meet her outside, Dandelion circled the mob back to Geralt. When he joined him, the Witcher still did not move. The lack of a reaction when he joined Geralt made Dandelion frown.

“Geralt? Let’s go.”

The Witcher said nothing. Did nothing. Stayed still for another ten seconds, breathing deeply. Geralt could hear him just fine but he had to get himself ready for another wave.  
The corners of Dandelion’s mouth turned down. He observed the white pallor, hand clenched around the book and the clenched teeth. Then the crease on his forehead.  
  
“Geralt,” he repeated, softer this time.  
  
Still, Geralt did not respond. He wanted to, now, but he had to find his way up to the surface to do so. It just felt so far away.

Dandelion sniffed him and flinched.

He glanced at the mob of students behind him. There was no professor in sight, so they would not leave anytime soon. Concerned, he wrung his hands and observed the Witcher. He looked at his hands, then.

Slowly, as if he was dealing with a spooked horse, Dandelion put his hand on Geralt’s shoulder. No reaction. The bard rubbed Geralt’s shoulder gently, then slowly moved his hand down his left arm. Pried the clenched fist open. Then he deliberately slid his hand into the Witcher’s.

He tugged.

And Geralt, though he could not speak, though he could not find his way back – Geralt moved. One step after the other, he followed. He followed Dandelion. For as they moved, Dandelion’s thumb rubbed over the back of his hand and it felt- it felt good. It felt like Dandelion was telling him it was okay. It felt like hope. Like he had borne it well. That he deserved more than this. That he was doing fine and he could not have made the bard more proud.  
That feeling, and that feeling alone, was what brought the Witcher back. As if Geralt was a thirsty horse and Dandelion a pail of water. As if Dandelion was offering him something he had always needed but never gotten. And so he followed. Followed that feeling.

Step by step they weaved through the group and finally got outside, where the air was clear. Geralt knew immediately, for he could breathe easily again and there were no pheromones save the familiar ones. He breathed deeply and clung to the feeling of Dandelion’s thumb on his hand. The Witcher did not dare hold Dandelion’s hand too tightly in fear of it leaving.

Outside, the bard stopped alongside the wall of the building and turned back. He inspected Geralt quickly, his other hand on Geralt’s other shoulder.

“Okay?”

Geralt found his voice, but it was extremely gravelly when he answered.

“Okay.”

His only response was a nod. The bard looked him over one more time and then seemed to agree. His eyes roved the square, searching for Shani.

“Oh, there she is. Shani! Over here!”

The amber eyes of the fighter saw Shani come over at a trot. Geralt was still stood slightly behind Dandelion. It suited him, fine.

The soft touch of Dandelion’s thumb against his rough skin was all that he cared about, for now.

“You’re in the staff building, too, right? Let’s go, then. I’m hungry.”

The Witcher grumbled.

“You’re always hungry.”

With widened eyes, Dandelion looked back at Geralt. When he saw him looking marginally better, he squeezed his hand and smiled goofily. It warmed Geralt and he could not stop it.

“Well, I guess you’re not wrong there.”

His hand tugged the Witcher along again and they followed Shani and said goodbye at her hallway, after which they continued up until Geralt saw the number 47 in front of him again. The door opened.  
This time, Geralt could not enter first. His feet would not move.

Not that Dandelion noticed at all.

Inside, the bard let go of his hand and closed the door behind them. Geralt instantly missed the feeling of Dandelion’s skin on his.

“Are you really okay? I thought you were going to faint on me, there,” Dandelion fussed and pushed him onto the bed. He put his hand on Geralt’s forehead and checked his pulse. His eyes got big and he tapped his pulse and tried again. “Shit, this is not good, Geralt, your heart-”

“My heart beats slower than yours,” Geralt interrupted stoically.

Relieved, Dandelion sagged down on the bed next to him.

“Oh, I forgot,” he answered seriously. His eyes met Geralt’s, searching for an answer as to how he was doing. “I had no idea your senses were that astute. It must have been difficult, today. I’m sorry.” 

The Witcher frowned. He was still missing the bard’s hand in his and he _knew_ he should really nip that feeling in the bud but everything felt so raw right now. Also, there was something wrong with Dandelion’s deductions but he was not about to correct him. 

“You couldn’t do anything about it. I just… couldn’t cope.”

“No, Geralt, it was like a hen house! Even I was feeling overwhelmed by the end of it!” There was a mug of water next to the bed that Dandelion passed to Geralt. “Here, drink.”

Without responding, Geralt complied. It hurt to even consider not doing it.

The moment he was done, Dandelion took it from him and their hands touched again on the mug. Afterwards, Dandelion sat down next to Geralt again, shoulders and thighs touching. It was an ordinary touch, honestly, that the white-haired man and the bard had shared often enough. In the long silence that followed, though, it became a lifeline to Geralt. For everything about him felt pulled taut, as if he could be triggered at any moment. Like he was drowning in a sea of chaos in his mind. Something was so wrong about all this and Geralt could barely make sense of it all.  
Throughout, though, the only thing that did make sense was that contact, and he could not lose it. He wrecked his brain for a suitable reason to get Dandelion to come back if he left, but he couldn’t find any. It worried him. 

He hadn’t needed to, though. The bard stayed.

They sat like that, shoulder to shoulder, for a long time. For as long as it took for Geralt’s shoulders to fall down and the pressure on his head to become less. Until his raw skin felt sensitive, at most. The pinpricks were still there, but so was the anchor.  
An anchor that calmed him, as he breathed in and out slowly. An anchor that told him he was safe. He had done _fine_. It was not odd to be affected. He had … been good. Done well.  
After an eternity, the calming stream of thoughts was interrupted by Dandelion sighing in bewilderment.

“Education, man. I’m happy most bards-to-be are not really very competitive,” he acknowledged. Impressed, he looked at Geralt. “Shani is a badass, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I don’t.”

“Well. Good.”

The bard slowly rose from his place on the bed and walked over to the table where he found one piece of bread in the basket. Munching on it, he peered back at Geralt.

“Hmmm… Though the experience of this morning was more than fulfilling mentally, my physical being demands sustenance, too. I think I’ll go get some from the hall downstairs,” he composed as he raised the basket and empty platter in his hands. Then he leaned over to the Witcher, as if to create intimacy even though there were meters between them. Geralt looked back stoically. “Besides. I feel the best course of action after this is to imbibe copious amounts of alcohol. What say you?”

The Witcher blinked. He stood and gently walked over to the bathroom door. He was still not very certain of himself nor his footing.

“I need a bath,” he replied.

The bard whined.

“Geralt!”

The Witcher did not reply. He closed the door behind him and waited until he heard the door of the room behind Dandelion close, too. Then he leaned back against the door of the bathroom and let his head thud against the door. Multiple times.

Afterwards, he held up his left hand. He could still feel Dandelion’s hand.

With a groan he hit his head against the door one last time.

Fuck. _So much for rule number one_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh I just found this idea so incredibly CUTE I had to put it in there. Hope you don't feel they are too OOC. I'm very excited to hear what you thought of it! 
> 
> Let me know, please!
> 
> p.s. Find me on tumblr http://aseriesoffunfortunateevents.tumblr.com !


	4. In which there is a Staff Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here goes nothing again. I hope you like it. Please let me know!

Training to become a Witcher was not for the weak. This was well-known. How difficult it really was, though, was knowledge only Witchers possessed. First of all, finding Kaer Morhen was a feat in itself. The trail that lead to the keep was difficult to find and few could manage to follow it. Then when young children were admitted to the school, there was the Trial of the Grasses which changed the nervous system and eyes, the Trial of Dreams, which increased night vision and then finally the Trial of the Mountains. The last was more an exam, meant to find out whether the child could cope with all the previous changes accordingly.

After the exam came the workshops to learn how to make the potions, practicing the signs and hearing about any and all monsters. Next to that there was extensive training, which had turned Geralt into what he was today. A combination of thought, knowledge and reflexes. The training had been gruesome and at the end of the day, Geralt’s fellow Witchers would retire early to do their chores and then go to sleep. For Geralt, that was not possible. Every day after their training, when exhaustion had set in, he would be submitted to Omega training. He would be given simple tasks like refrain from an Alpha order, observe Alpha behaviour around him and copy it or to resist pheromones. They would increase the intensity of the voice and pheromones the more exhausted Geralt was. Sometimes, multiple Witchers would order him around and he would have to refuse. It had left Geralt flayed to the point over oversensitivity and those training always came at the most unopportune moments. He would sometimes need days to recover, which Vesemir saw as a weakness and so they would repeat the lesson until Geralt could withstand it.

So, indeed. Training at Kaer Morhen was not easy.

None of that, though, _none_ of that, came close to what had happened to Geralt in that classroom. He had practised with six Witchers present, at most. But forty? There weren’t even forty Witchers alive.

It had left him weak and wounded.

So Geralt had stayed in their rooms for the remainder of the day after a long bath. Considerably less tense he had sat down on one of the couches and not left it all day. He had taken the opportunity to read through the medicinal book of Shani’s class. Meanwhile, Dandelion had fallen down on the couch across him and had started writing letters.

They had briefly discussed all students in the classroom afterwards and agreed that none seemed suspicious. None had reacted to Dandelion’s silver, either. So that was that, they were sure that Medicine 1 was not the class where the culprit was hiding. One class down, one meeting and class to go, Dandelion had summarized. Then he had raised the jug of ale in front of them and generously poured more into their cups.

Before dinner even arrived, they had gone through two jugs.

The next day, they both doubted their choices.

When Geralt woke up, the bard was already awake, even. He was the reason Geralt had woken up, since he was groaning in agony for quite some time about the light from outside. When Geralt had snapped at him to close the curtains of the bed, the groaning had stopped and some movement could be heard. From his bedroll on the couch, Geralt could not see what had happened, but it had become blessedly silent after that.

The Witcher took that time to check himself mentally and found that the pressure on his head was considerably less. Since they would be joining a staff meeting today, Geralt imagined it must be possible to join. Staff meant adults. People who were not in the habit of showing off their Alpha voices. Besides, there were considerably less teachers than the group of students yesterday. Around 20, Shani had told them. Most of them had Teaching Assistants under them that guided workshops as well, but those had not been invited.  
Naturally Shani had vouched for her colleagues, but Geralt had told her not to be too sure. Dopplers were notoriously difficult to catch since they took over all knowledge and behaviour of their victims, too. Thus if a Doppler was holding a professor hostage and had transformed into him or her, only silver or odd behaviour would be their giveaway. Since they had not caught anyone so far, it was logical to attend the meeting.

As Geralt got up and went about his morning rituals, he wondered how a staff meeting looked. It would take place in the right wing, where they had been before, but on the third floor. Apparently the whole third floor was comprised of offices and Shani had told Dandelion the conference room ‘could not be missed’. The Witcher sincerely wondered about that.

When he was finished, he told Dandelion he would be feeding Roach and getting them breakfast. The only reply he received was a request for coffee.  
In a better mood than the day before, Geralt got some fruit from the kitchen and brought it to Roach. Since she was still doing fine and the stable boy was taking good care of her, our Witcher went inside again quickly.  
After a swift left then right, he entered the dining hall for their breakfast. From the entry he took notice of the length of the room and the chatter coming from different tables in the back of it. At the front, there was a buffet-style breakfast bar and behind that, staff of the Academy were breaking their fast. The ceiling was coffered and had a huge painting of the goddess Melitele in the middle. The walls were panelled and at the end of the room there were enormous windows that let in the sunlight. Outside, though, it was grey and cold.

With secure steps, Geralt moved to the start of the buffet. There was a line of finely dressed individuals in front of him so he followed their lead. They were all taking a tray off a servant at the start of the buffet. The Witcher joined. He was the only one to thank the servant.  
What followed was an array of foods. There was an array of food so vast it dazzled Geralt. There were fried eggs, scrambled eggs, bacon, bread and even pastries... At the end, Geralt could see porridge and an assortiment of toppings. He walked over to that confidently, but then stopped his movements while grabbing a bowl. Considering the porridge, Geralt stood still.

During his Omega tasks for Eskel, he had more than once been in charge of cooking up a breakfast after a late night. It was something he excelled in. Those breakfasts had been much more extensive than just a bowl of porridge and a cup of coffee, though. And here, all of the other food had already been made, too.

Lost in his own world, the Witcher did not notice the elder that came to stand next to him. The man observed him, his keen brown eyes taking in the crease in his forehead and the empty bowl in his hands.

“Trouble choosing,” the man asked gently, obviously amused.

The Witcher looked up and stepped aside, gesturing to the porridge as he answered. An embarrassed cough followed.

“I’m wondering what to get.”

The man stepped up to the table.

“Ah. Well, porridge is always a good choice. If you fancy anything else after, you can always come get it.”

The man leaned over and filled his bowl with porridge. Geralt observed and carried on doubting.

“It’s not for me,” he admitted.

The man added honey and some raisins to his porridge and seemed to think over the answer. He filled another bowl. Then stopped his administrations.

“Oh,” he said, like it explained everything. Then he repeated it, a bit louder and looked up at Geralt. “Oh! Well. When in doubt, I find it best to get my partner some of everything.”

The man swung his hair back with a deliberate move and the Witcher could clearly see the large circle behind his ear. The revelation that he was talking to an Omega in an Academy building made Geralt so distracted he did not even correct the man. The blonde glanced back at the Witcher and with a blush on his cheeks he looked at the floor.

“Then again, I like to treat mine,” he admitted. Then he looked up and smiled brightly. “Anyhow, good luck!”

Geralt nodded in thanks, not even correcting the man. Instead he just observed him.

The blonde dashed away and walked over to a table up ahead where a wrinkled woman sat on her own. She smiled brightly as the man joined her and passed her a bowl of porridge. At that she ruffled his hair. They pushed their heads together in a clear show of affection.

The Witcher could not help but feel a little jealous of this man who was so obviously fine with being utterly himself. When the two kissed, Geralt turned to the buffet around him again.

* * *

In the end he brought Dandelion way too much food. He could definitely pass if off as being for them both, but Geralt himself knew the truth of the matter. If Vesemir would see him now, he would have struck him across the cheek. _Weak_ , he would have said.

The Witcher could only agree.

As he walked into the room, he was chastising himself for being influenced by the other Omega. He should not be treating Dandelion as his Alpha or making the comparison between the two at all. Dandelion was just… Dandelion. The Bard. His unconditional friend. Whom he looked out for and who looked out for him. Who calmed him down when he was tense. The person who had gotten him back to normal, yesterday.

But wasn’t that the whole problem? For that, the man deserved a bit of extra thought, right?

The Witcher put down the tray on the table and shook his head at his own thoughts. Besides, if he really considered what was best for Dandelion, this was not it. All this food was ridiculously unhealthy and Dandelion already had a habit of eating the worst things in huge amounts. So giving him bacon, scrambled eggs, sweet buns, fruit juice, slices of cheese and meat and porridge… were a bad idea.

Definitely a bad idea.

The room was empty, but Geralt could hear Dandelion in the bathroom puttering around and practicing his tone ladders. Those kinds of things had bothered him endlessly before but now the Witcher was able to tune it out. Like a clock on the wall. At least it made him easily locatable.

As the tray lay on the table, his amber eyes looked at the door to the bathroom and back. His shoulders tensed when the singing stopped. Nervously he glanced at the table. There was enough room to spread it out. Should he?  
He would have for Eskel. Or Lambert.  
But then again, Dandelion was neither of them. Oh, damn it all to hell.

Grumbling to himself about stupid bards and wasting time, Geralt unloaded the tray and placed Dandelion’s plate at the head of the table next his bowl of porridge. He arranged all the different kinds of food based on whether they were salty or sweet and put a napkin next to his plate. Sue him, this was the only way he knew how to do breakfast well. And, well. Eskel and Lambert liked it. Dandelion better do, too.  
The door opened and Dandelion walked out of the bathroom while idly drying his hair. He was wearing loose linen pants and a beige shirt with a brown jacket over it. The jacket had yellow stitching all over it. Both his shirt and the jacket were still hanging open and Geralt’s eyes were drawn to his lithe frame.  
Vaguely he wondered how that skin would feel under his fingers. How Dandelion would react if he were to accidentally touch- how he would reprimand him. How his Alpha voice would sound.

In front of him, Dandelion jumped.

“Gods almighty, Geralt! Announce that you’re here or something!”

“I’m here,” he deadpanned. “Food, too.”

Dandelion rolled his eyes and came closer.

When he saw the food on the table from where he stood, his eyes went wide and he looked at Geralt. When their eyes met, the bard’s eyes became a normal size again. He dropped the towel to the floor and walked over. The bard stopped behind the chair while he inspected the different kinds of food. His nose went up in the air and he smelled, groaning softly.

“Geralt,” he praised. The Witcher clenched his hand to a fist. “This is heavenly.”

As he passed by the man Dandelion reached out a hand and thoughtlessly ruffled his hair. With a twist of his body, Dandelion reached over the table to get a piece of bacon and bit off a piece. Moans of pleasure could be heard.

“Hmm. Bacon is verily the food of Gods. Don’t you agree?”

There was no response, but Dandelion did not seem to mind. The bard sat down in the armchair and started assembling his breakfast. In the end it was a huge pile and he had not finished it at all when he put the plate back on the table and turned to Geralt.

“Brilliant spread. _Just_ what I needed,” he groaned. As the Witcher ate his porridge, Dandelion sucked on his fingers to get the grease off. Geralt looked away and shifted on the couch. “Thank you, Geralt.”

At that, the Witcher peered up. Their eyes met and Dandelion smiled at him. It was a genuine, good smile. The one he usually reserved for others.  
Now it was directed at him, Geralt finally understood why Omegas threw themselves at Dandelion in taverns and inns. The smile made him feel giddy and warm inside. The words of the man echoed through his mind and he believed them. For once, he knew he had done the right thing. Regardless of how it would look or what he should have done. Dandelion approved and that was that.

A small smile formed on the Witcher’s face.

When he averted his eyes, Geralt’s eyes fell on the tea pot. He looked at it as he ate some porridge.

Dandelion did not press him and filled a mug of coffee for the both of them. As he observed the pots, Geralt noticed that the coffee and tea pot seemed made of silver. After a check with a magnet, he had confirmed that they were, indeed. Hm.

The Witcher asked Dandelion whether it was customary to have tea and coffee served during a meeting and Dandelion admitted that he was not sure. He had only been to two meetings by chance, because he had happened to be there when they were commencing. Those times, he acknowledged there had been a coffee and tea tray going around. He could not vouch for all other meetings.  
The answer was enough, though. They concluded that it would be an excellent way to narrow down their suspects among the staff. Though it was wildly outside his comfort zone, Geralt suggested walking around with the tea and coffee pot on a tray and offering them to the professors. He figured they were going to feel like idiots anyway, sitting in on a staff meeting of an Academy.

Dandelion agreed. And just like that, they had a plan.

* * *

The meeting was boring. In fact, the meeting was so boring that Geralt had started to focus on small things like how damned uncomfortable the small chair he sat on was. It was also so boring that he had the time to glare daggers at the bard, who was sitting comfortably in an armchair behind the large oval table and _not_ on the second uncomfortable chair on the other side of the entry.

Naturally, fortune had favoured the bard.

As soon as they had walked in, the chancellor had recognised Dandelion and called him over. No viscount was serving him, he had offered up with an amused face. Besides, he had asked Dandelion to be here, he argued and then pointed the bard to an armchair. All professors agreed wholeheartedly, saying that Dandelion was staff in any case.  
They all ignored Geralt.

With a guilty look at his comrade, Dandelion had sat himself down in order not to attract too much attention. The Witcher had shrugged at first. Now, though, the tables had turned. Now he had been sitting on this damned rickety chair for nearly 20 minutes.

All that had been discussed in the meantime, however, was how each department was doing and what was needed in the coming period. The financial state of the Academy had been explained and sheets of vellum handed out with numbers. It had not interested Geralt in the least but he saw that Dandelion had been in rapture of the explanation and even dared ask some critical questions. Seeing as the bard had some experience in managing a household, that was not surprising. Nonetheless it was refreshing to see Dandelion so taken by a subject.  
Because the Witcher was definitely not.

He decided very early on to give up and observe the suspects instead.

There were a grand total of twenty people present. Twelve women and eight men. There was the board, including the Chancellor, his assistant and the accountant of the academy, the Deans of all ten departments and six professors **.** None of the Teaching Assistants (bar Dandelion) were present. After twenty minutes, Geralt had gotten as far as to determine that none of the above acted odd. Yet that was to be expected. The Doppler would have gotten fairly confident by now.

All the more reason to find it. A glance at Shani told Geralt that she thought it was time.

Without a word Geralt stood and turned to the door.

The servants of the kitchen had been instructed to leave the trays with coffee and tea pots outside the room, so Geralt could get them and walk around with them. Or rather, for _Dandelion and him_ to walk around with them. The mugs had been put in the middle of the table already.

Gently and slow, so as not to disturb anyone, he opened the door and walked outside. True to form, there were two trays on the side table in the hall. After a simple acid check, the Witcher was sure they were the right silver pots. Geralt picked one tray up and balanced it on his hand as he added the milk and sugar from the other tray to his. Now that there was only one server, his tray needed more additions.   
While he tried to reorganize his tray, the door opened and Dandelion walked out.

“I thought we were never going to do it. Here, let me help,” Dandelion said and effortlessly plucked the tray out of Geralt’s hands and held it lower so he could see what he was doing.

The Witcher glared at him.

“Were you getting bored in your armchair?”

The look Dandelion gave him told him to pace himself. It singed Geralt a bit, but he could shake it off.

“Um, Geralt? Why are you piling it all on your tray?”

The white haired man motioned towards the bard.

“You were inside.”

“I want to help,” Dandelion insisted, putting his hands on his hip. “Let me help.”

The words bit Geralt, but since there was no power behind it, he shook his head.

“Just let me do it, it’s odd if you help now. The Doppler will notice.”

“No, Geralt. Come on. Let me do something, too.”

The man was not seeing reason and it made Geralt make a frustrated sound.

“Dandelion, you are a faculty member. You cannot serve the faculty. In their eyes, I am a servant. It’s fine, it gives me more control anyway. Now go, quickly.”

With an irritated sound, Dandelion stared at him. When the Witcher did not give in, he turned and walked over to the door.

“Fine. But pay attention to that Deckermann, the accountant. He is behaving oddly.”

Upon entering the room the bard sang out his presence and closed the door behind him with a loud thud. While the Witcher raised his tray, he heard the man comment loudly upon the beautiful washrooms and ask for a biscuit from the basket on the table.

To avoid suspicion, Geralt waited outside.

After a minute, he followed in. Some of the faculty members absolutely rejoiced at the sight of coffee and none thought it odd they had to fill their mugs themselves. Slowly, Geralt made his way around the table and took note of reactions. There were a few who reacted to the silver being hot, but none hissed or changed form in any way. Three people refrained from having a refreshment. The chancellor, the accountant and Lindenbrog. Lindenbrog was an old man. He had a long beard, barely any hair on the top of his head and spectacles on a chain around his neck. He was the Dean of the Astronomy department, Geralt knew.  
In the end, three out of twenty was a good score. The Witcher put down the tray on his lap as he sat down on the chair and regarded the people drinking coffee. A damn good score. If they could eliminate one more, Dandelion and he could split up to follow the other two. An ideal situation.

Although. Normally, he would not have considered letting Dandelion do such a dangerous thing. Not merely because sending Dandelion after monsters seemed like certain death. It was also because when such a situation had occurred before, Dandelion had turned up somewhere completely different, strumming his lute and collecting money.

Still, Dandelion had also promised Shani his help and the Witcher was confident that there would be no repeat. If only because of how angry he had been the last time.

Before he could find out, though, they would have to get the suspects down to two members.

Another five minutes or so later, the bard sat up straight. The Witcher noticed.

The bard studied the Chancellor and the accountant intently for some time. Then he glanced at Geralt. Their eyes met. Dandelion nodded his head towards the two ever so slightly. The unspoken command thrummed through Geralt’s body, making him sit up straighter, too. He wanted to comply. Needed to, really.

Geralt followed Dandelion’s line of sight. The accountant’s hand was trembling. Still, the Witcher had observed the man before. He was old. The white hair that was still on his head had formed a ring around a bald patch in the middle of it. Geralt had seen him shake then, too.  
His amber eyes flew back over to the bard’s. He shook his head and sat back, holding the tray statically. Besides, it was too early for a second round.

Dandelion nodded that way again, this time more notably.

The Witcher still saw nothing else happening so he quirked an eyebrow at the bard. This time, he felt a bit of pressure as he withstood Dandelion’s mute orders. Still, he was the Witcher: he knew his monsters better than any other.

His quirked eyebrow made Dandelion pause. A split second later, though, he smirked.

The Witcher held his breath.

Then Dandelion quirked his eyebrow back at the man as if to challenge him. He indicated the man again with his jaw, his eyes never leaving the Witcher’s.

Geralt felt a shiver go through his body. Yes, there was the added pressure of ignoring an order by an Alpha, _the_ Alpha, but there was more. Something in the pit of his stomach had started burning. His back tingled. Those eyes that did not leave his made him clench the tray handles harder. Made him breathe a little shallower.

The cornflower blue eyes seemed to challenge him.

As he once more looked at the two men the bard indicated, he saw no changes. Instantly he was drawn back into those blue depths.

Dandelion’s eyes had never left his face. His smirk was gone.

As the Witcher started to move his head, Dandelion cocked his head to the side. Slowly, almost languidly. Then he lowered his chin and looked at Geralt.

The Witcher swallowed.

Deliberate. That was deliberate. The Alpha was deliberately showing him his sign. He had not used an Alpha voice, had not used his pheromones, had not even made a sound. And still, goosebumps erupted on the Witcher’s skin. As he fought the order, he felt the flame inside expand. 

He ground his heels into the floor to keep himself from moving, all the while watching Dandelion’s reaction. The bard studied him. Lifting his chin again, he sniffed the air.

Geralt stopped moving.

The moment Dandelion stopped smelling, his eyes zoomed in on Geralt. Just before he looked back at the men, Dandelion quirked his eyebrow again pointedly. Amused.

 _Shit_.

Clumsily, Geralt shot up out of his chair.

He tore his eyes away from the bard. The tray jingled as he walked around automatically, offering everybody coffee or tea again. The occupants of the table were enthusiastic about the second round and they thanked him profusely, but the Witcher said nothing. He merely looked at their hands as they touched the silver. Inside, he was a mess.

There was no reason to be, truly. Geralt had taken his potion, like he did every day. It was even stronger than normally. In no way, shape or form should Dandelion have smelled anything. Could he have melled anything. But that look…

It made Geralt shiver all over.

Could Dandelion know?

When Geralt offered the three remaining suspects a hot beverage, they got the pots off the tray and poured themselves a mug of tea. Even Shani had.

During his round Geralt had refused to meet the bard’s eyes.

After he was done, the meeting resumed and Geralt made his way outside. He put the tray on the table there. Then he put his hands on the table next to it and stood. He was slowly managing to control his breathing. The fact that his mind made him go back to those cornflower blues inside, however, did not help.

_Fuck. He knew this had been a mistake._

* * *

In a small break during the meeting, Shani had approached Geralt and softly made a request. She had a sneaking suspicion about her assistant and said girl was at work alone, now. The Witcher had jumped at the opportunity to leave. To get away from Dandelion’s scrutiny and blue eyes. When he left, he had waved at the bard and pointed at Shani for details. They would meet up in her room, after the meeting.

Outside, Geralt strode away from the room towards the left wing of the building. He took a tray with him.

It gave him the opportunity to finally calm down.

Which was definitely needed. The Witcher could not believe what had just transpired. It was the first time something like it had happened. It made him feel goosebumps. Next to that there was a large amount of wonder. Wonder because nothing about it had felt like he had disappointed the Alpha. Nothing.  
In fact, it felt like Dandelion had achieved exactly what he wanted. Geralt was rattled. Thoroughly, completely, utterly rattled. He could not stop thinking about it. In fact, he could not help imagining Dandelion’s thoughts as he had shown his Alpha sign. As he had grinned. _Shit_ , Geralt really should stop thinking about it.

He just couldn’t.

For the longest time he just stood in front of the office of Shani, battling the sea of emotions within himself. They ranged from arousal to punishing to a resignation that he could not have such things. That he should not have such things. Because he was a Witcher and Witchers did not need an Alpha. Witchers could take care of themselves. They were beyond Alpha, Beta and Omega.

If that was so, though, why did he still want it so badly? Why did he wonder about Dandelion’s Alpha voice? Why did he want to see that delicious grin again?

He could not find the answer to that. Not for however long he thought about it. In the end, he decided to just walk in to the office and talk to the assistant.

The girl, for she was young, had curly blonde hair and a pretty figure. A good secretary, Geralt had decided, since she had diligently been working. And Geralt had been staring at the window of the office for a long time. Still, her eyes had been trained on the papers, even when Geralt walked in. It did not change either, except for the tiniest wince. A sign on her desk told Geralt that this was Genevieve Dressen, assistant to the Dean of Medicine and Herbology. The amount of paper on her desk suggested that she still had a lot to do.

Geralt coughed.

“Some tea? We had some leftover at the meeting. Shani told me to bring it and wait for her, here.”

The woman looked up, not at all surprised at his presence. She nodded and held out a hand when he only offered her the tray and did not move to pour tea in her mug. As she topped it up, she glanced at the Witcher. She had stunning brown eyes hidden behind large glasses and wore a jade necklace.

Next to that, she was obviously _not_ the Doppler.

“Thanks. I am parched,” she acknowledged. Her hand waved at a few chairs on the other side of her desk, a corner that had obviously been designed to wait in. “If you want to, you can sit down. Peruse the books if you’d like.”

There was a bookcase filled with books. Before Geralt had even responded, Genevieve had already turned back to her work. The Witcher said nothing. He put down the tray on one of the chairs and was just about to pull out _A Hundred Weeds that Worry_ when there was a commotion in the hallway. The sound of steps followed and there was a confused shout of ‘WHAT’ in the background when a man ran into the office Geralt was in.

The Witcher simply turned around to observe.

The man was wearing a red sergeant’s coat and a decorative sword at his hip. The medaillions on his breast had recently been cleaned, for they reflected the light in the room like a mirror.

“I need to speak to the Dean! This is preposterous,” he bellowed. His cheeks were red and he was clenching his fists. “Where is she?”

Genevieve stood and stressed about putting her papers on the right stacks while she responded.

“Sorry, m’Lord, the Dean is in a meeting.”

“A meeting!? Are you kidding me, wench? She has just suspended the Prince of Redania downstairs!”

Genevieve gaped.

“The- She – But Shani,” she looked at Geralt. 

There was only an empty space left. The Witcher had bolted towards the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it!

Four soldiers stood around a man in formal wear. There was embroidered gold thread on his doublet and he was wearing boots of basilisk leather. The man had brown hair and stubble along his jawline. His green eyes were on the administrative lady he was talking to. His arm supported him on the reception desk as he spoke. One of the soldiers had joined their conversation. The other three were flanking the man, hands at the ready.

Instantly Geralt dismissed them as the prince and his following.

Other than that there were two other students in the hallway. The two had their arms around one another while seated on a bench, looking very much like they had been interrupted at an inopportune moment. Both were watching the prince wide-eyed, whispering every now and then. When asked where the Dean had gone, the one with black hair had pointed down the hall. Back into the building.

Geralt moved like lightning. He ran into the building, checking every room he encountered.

When he’d had four, he moved into the hallway and ran into a shocked Dandelion, wheezing and leaning on his knees.

“She- the- Genevieve- They told me you were here! What do we do?”

Geralt ran into the next room. Empty.

“I don’t know,” he said, filled with frustration. He was yanking open a next door and looking in. “How many entries has the building got?”

Still breathing loudly, the bard opened a classroom on the other side of the hall.

“Two. The front there and one at the left wing.”

With a frown Geralt leaned back from the doorframe he had looked into. Odd architectural choice, Geralt decided. Still, he’d take it. He looked at Dandelion around the door he was holding.

“You take the back one. Watch the people leaving until the building closes – witnesses said it went back inside. If we’re lucky, we’ll see its original or go-to-shape. Afterward, we meet at the front desk,” he told the bard. The man nodded obediently. The Witcher held up his silver necklace. “Get out your silver in case you run into anyone suspicious. And for Melitele’s sake, do not trust Shani outright.”

Without even answering, Dandelion waved his silver bracelet in the air. He mock saluted Geralt and then turned around to walk away at a brisk pace. When he had turned the corner safely, Geralt ran back to the front desk and out the front door. The square was empty save for two students sitting and reading in the grass underneath a tree to the left. There was a bench in front of them and one on the right side. Geralt chose the right one.

He stood next to the bench for some time. He could hear the people inside better, that way. Inside, he could still see the prince of Redania talk to the lady behind the desk. The soldiers around him had sat down on the bench next to the reception area: apparently their liege was under no threat at present.

The Witcher ultimately followed their example. He spread out his arm over the back of the bench. He would be here for at least an hour, he figured. Probably. He had no clue when the Academy would close exactly. Or any other educational buildings, Geralt pondered. The only thing he could compare it with was Nenneke’s temple. Yet the temple of Melitele seemed to be open at all times.

Since he had all the time in the world anyway, Geralt kicked back and watched the Redanian prince argue his way out of an expulsion. After a while the chancellor joined them, as well as the sergeant he had seen in Shani’s office. There was a long conversation after that, which Geralt could have heard but chose not to follow. Instead, he watched the group of three students that left the building. A blonde and two brunettes. He had seen one of them in Medicine 1 and watched the others carefully, memorising their faces and clothing.

He did the same for the following twenty people that came out over the hour. None of them was alone and a big chunk of that number were the six professors from the meeting and of course the prince and his bodyguards. The rest were all students that had bent their heads over books together or were chatting amiably. There was no odd behaviour.

When the bell of the Acadamy chimed six, Dandelion appeared at the entrance and called him in. After a swift check on one another with silver, the bard told Geralt that his side had been closed by the keeper of the grounds. He had seen more than thirty people leave from his side, including the rest of the attendees of the meeting together with Genevieve. Most of the others were students, but he promised the Witcher that he had memorised their faces.

When Geralt kept pressing the matter, he explained it helped well to give them names linked to their looks. When Dandelion moved on to explain he had seen a Baldian and an Acnelia, Geralt stopped the man and forbade him to speak the names aloud.

Dandelion had pouted in response.

Still, when Shani and the keeper of the grounds joined them soon after, they could not present them with good news. The redhaired woman looked shaken and had rubbed her hands all over her face at their report. Willingly she had held out her hand to have the silver test done to her and had the groundkeeper do the same. Since they came out unscathed, Geralt suggested he stay near the entrance while the rest of the group worked their way across each floor. They were to check whether there were any people left behind.

After another rub of her face, the Dean had left, taking the third floor. The bard claimed the first floor and the older man who kept the grounds, took the second floor. They went through the whole building room by room and sent everyone to the front entrance, where Geralt noted them and did the silver check on them before they were allowed to leave. From the third floor came the Chancellor and his secretary. It was an odd way to meet, but the man had thanked Geralt profusely for his work and hoped the Doppler would be caught soon. The Witcher did not mention the Chancellor had earlier denied the possibility of there being one at all to Shani. After all, the man passed the test this time around, too.

Last but not least, Dandelion flushed out all of the administrative workers from the break room. They had continued to gossip about the whole situation over coffee after their shifts, but were pleasantly surprised when the renowned bard had walked in. Singing and performing for them Dandelion had accompanied the group to the exit and he had received a standing ovation from the square when he finished.

The whole situation amused Geralt and when the women clapped, he smiled. Dandelion spotted it and grinned at him, and Geralt shook his head.

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

The bard looked affronted and then smiled, leaning over.

“You know, I _have_ caught you humming my songs more, lately.”

The Witcher raised an eyebrow at him.

“Only when I need to drown out your incessant talking, probably.”

Still, Dandelion grinned and raised his eyebrows up and down. His eyes were like a calm sea, Geralt noted.

The Witcher said nothing, then looked at the retreating group of staff. None of the group had reacted to the silver.

The suspect was either a student or had already escaped when he had gotten downstairs.

* * *

The career of a Witcher was usually simple. The monster would be pointed out to them, it would show itself and that was that. So far, Geralt’s mission for the Oxenfurt Academy had been a lot less successful. To say the least. That fact, next to the obvious alpha problems, had been grating on his nerves.

What he knew about dopplers might not be enough to catch it, this time. They were rare, which might be why there was not a lot of lore on them. What he did know, though, was that they could change into a shape with the same body weight at will after having encountered that shape. A doppler could also choose to form any accessories on the bodies of their doppelgangers, but when they were ripped off those accessories would resemble torn flesh. Other than being injured by that, dopplers were not able to stay transformed when touching silver. Dudu, the doppler he and Dandelion had met in Novigrad, had detested silver very much. Afterwards, Geralt and Dandelion had invested in a set of silver necklaces, naturally.

The problem was that it was difficult to test everyone with silver without it being noticeable. Since Geralt and Dandelion had only seen known individuals or students leave the building, they would now be focusing on the students of Shani’s Herbology 4 class. It seemed rather conspicuous for Dandelion to walk around the class with the silver bracelet, again. The Doppler would realize immediately, especially since it was a class of ten students. In short, they needed to figure out a way to get the Doppler to accidentally touch silver.

It was a difficult case. The situation worried Geralt as he fed Roach the next morning. When he met Dandelion in the breakfast hall, he still had no idea what to do.

Incidentally, it gave them a good subject to talk about. Something that the Witcher did not mind, since his head was still reeling from what had happened the other day. He had seen Dandelion look at him a few times afterwards, but he had shut off any and all conversations Dandelion tried to have with him. Instead, he cleaned their clothes and had oiled his armor before suggesting the dining hall for dinner. It had seemed the safe option due to its public nature.

Some might have said avoidance was a bad strategy, but Geralt was not so sure. It was not that he did not necessarily want to avoid talking about it. He was rather curious what Dandelion had smelled, actually, if only to change his potion.

No, the problem was not the conversation. It was more the content.

The whole situation threw Geralt’s orientation for a spin. It was what had kept him awake all night. Every time he had closed his eyes, he had seen Dandelion’s blues in front of him and that grin. The deliberate move to show his Alpha sign. The challenging eyebrow. Geralt could make heads nor tails of Dandelion’s reaction to him as an Alpha . Any powerhungry Alpha would have laid down the law and enforced his order. But Dandelion? The Bard had been amused and had even stepped back, it seemed. Was that even possible for an Alpha? 

In any case the staff meeting had awoken a side of him that had not been present before. Naturally he had already noticed Dandelion’s nice features – if not for the fact that people had pointed them out to him. He knew the man was lean and flexible and smelled nice. His presence as an Alpha had calmed him down before. Yet it never seemed to be of too much consequence whether he was there or not. Geralt had always rejoiced at seeing him again, but he had never changed his paths for it nor had it affected his psyche. These last few weeks, though, that had changed. The bard’s presence had made a difference. Plus the Witcher had started to feel things when the man was close. He had even caught himself wondering about the man’s body. He had envisioned Dandelion using his Alpha voice and he had looked out for praise from the man. Tried to thank him, even.

A doubtful choice. Geralt knew he shouldn’t have. Why would he?

All his life, he had been able to go without the praise. Had repressed any need for praise and subspace until his scheduled drop. For the sole reason that Witchers could go without it. Even when it had hurt his skin, even when it had driven him insane to smell an Alpha around, Geralt had been able to withstand it. Because no Witcher needed that side of their nature. Their goal was to save people, control the Chaos in the world by killing monsters. If that came with a side of sex every once in a while, that was fine. That part should never interfere with the main cause, though. And an Alpha was bound to get in the way of that.  
Besides, an Alpha needed someone to follow them around and follow their every order. Needed their Omegas to stay safe in their nests and care for their pups. They were the strong ones, after all, and the Omegas were weak.

Or so Geralt had been taught.

Yet the day before, Dandelion had blindly obeyed Geralt’s orders when he told him to run to the other entrance. Actually, the man had never stopped him from going after a monster; he had always simple requested he could join for the stories. He had never said anything about jumping in when things got rough nor had he ever done so. The man seemed to have accepted that Geralt was fine on his own. That the Witcher could deal with what he encountered on his Path.

That Geralt as a Witcher was his superior.

And yes, the bard had wanted them to stay in comfortable lodgings when they came here, but he had agreed that they would sleep in the fields again, afterwards. It had really seemed to be all about the comfortable beds and hot baths, back then. Besides, even before this, Dandelion had not ordered around so much as worried around. Always when Geralt was wounded or in distress, the man had taken care of him. Knowingly or unknowingly, he had been the Witcher’s anchor. He had been the opposite to anything Geralt had been taught to expect about Alphas.

Which just did not make sense, because how could an Alpha that behaved this way make Geralt seem weak? If all he ever did was praise his power through song, look after him and follow his orders when it got down to business?

To Geralt that seemed like an asset instead of a problem.

And that was exactly _, exactly_ what the Witcher had to kick back into place. That was what he had to let go of again. That notion that he could _have something_ like that. That he could even _have_ an asset or a problem.

It was proving difficult, though, because that whole list of arguments against it were working for his brain, but not for anything else. Because he… he could not help it. He hankered for the asset, coveted the problem.  
Every time his eyes closed and he saw those blue depths, he longed for it. And now he could not help but think about how having it would look.

In short, Geralt was unsure about many things in terms of content.

In the end, though, he was definitely sure coming to the Academy had been _the fucking worst plan in the century_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, but a reaaaally good one coming soon, I promise. It's just that the plot needs fulfillment too! Thank you for all your positive responses =)


	6. In which Dandelion is the TA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less stress this time so hopefully no more mistakes =)

As Shani’s Herbology lesson neared, Geralt and Dandelion put their heads together and thought up a basic plan for the lesson. They wanted to simulate the last lesson but give Geralt the option of leaving. Next to that, Dandelion thought it might be an idea to shake the hands of the students with his bracelet in hand. The Witcher was not so sure about the latter, but they decided to fine tune the plan with Shani.

In the end, the bard did not bring up what happened at the meeting. Every now and then, though, he did sniff the air. Geralt knew the man thought it happened inconspicuously, but the Witcher had superb hearing, so that was not the case.

Since it had not affected their planning, the white haired man had just rolled his eyes and continued. After all, it would not do to go rooting for trouble.

When they went to pick up Shani, they pitched their idea after they silver-tested her. She had been rummaging through her room when they had entered and it had made her look very disheveled. At first, while they pitched the idea, she had been walking around and looking under clothing that was strewn about. When they were done, though, she stood still and her eyes were sharp again. The woman merely shook her head sadly.

“Herbology 4 has a workshop this week in the lab. They have a lab class before that so they are already inside. A bit odd to shake hands, really.”

The two men looked at one another, deflated.

“Oh.”

Shani turned around and rooted around in her bookcase while she answered. Apparently, this time she found what she had been looking for. With a shout of euphoria she stashed another book into her bag. It was already bulging and Geralt wondered how heavy it was. Before any of them could comment, Shani turned around with two books in her arms and walked over.

“Yes, sorry. They have been in charge of their own snapdragons and will be harvesting,” she passed both Dandelion and Geralt a huge green book with the title _Salves and Salvation_. Only the Witcher opened it. “Then they will be making a salve to heal pustules, for the Academy to sell.”

Looking through the index, Geralt found the snapdragon and looked at its picture. He was drawn by the text around it and scanned it. It seemed manageable. Students should be able to harvest the flowers of a plant, surely.

“So what do you propose,” the Witcher asked.

Shani pondered that as she sat down on the arm of her armchair.

“Geralt could join the experiment and Dandelion could be the Teaching Assistant, like before. The procedure involves having to cut up the plant first with a knife. We have silver lab knives too, so that means we just need one person in the back in case anyone suddenly leaves. Next to that, we need to keep track of who is using the knives and who is not.”

Geralt studied the room around him while he considered the plan. Other than when he had known her before, Shani had really gotten into colours. The drapes of her bed were a deep yellow and she had colourful paintings on her walls. Otherwise the furniture was the same, except for all the personal effects lying strewn around. Small decorative details in her room were all golden, including the vest she was wearing today. It had a golden pattern stitched into it, he noticed. Symbols of the sun.

“Does that mean Geralt has to partner up,” Dandelion asked, glancing at Geralt.

The woman shrugged. The Witcher had been wondering the same thing.

“He could, but I paired them off before to take care of the snapdragons. Besides, they’re with an even number. You could just perform it alone in the last row to avoid suspicion? I’ll say you’re there to see if Herbology is going to be your major,” she offered. On her way towards the door she grabbed her jacket and turned back to them with a fond smile. “They kind of know each other pretty well by year four, so we can’t muffle away your presence.”

Geralt stood, too.

“It sounds like a good start. Dandelion, you take care to look at what they’re doing. I’ll stop any people that try to leave.”

The bard nodded obediently. He walked over to the door and opened it for them. The manner in which he made way for them made Geralt’s mind tingle instead of sting as he walked through it in front of him.

“Deal.”

* * *

In general, Geralt steered away from children. There was a pariah hanging around Witchers as it was and he did not want people to become even more fantastical. He usually suffered enough already. Still, when he had been in the vicinity of human children, he had always handled younger children better than older ones. Simply because they did not always know the ways of the world and would often not consider him a threat. At times children would revere him for his knightlike armor and swords. A younger girl had even given him a flower crown, once. 

At the Academy, however, Geralt had to admit that this general idea, younger humans are easier than older ones, did not apply. After ten minutes in the class with the fourth years, Geralt had decided he liked the older students _a lot_ better than the younger ones. They raised their hands before they spoke and respected their fellow students. All had come to class with notes and questions about the homework and seemed much more keen to know the answers to them. None of them had used their alpha voices so far and besides, their pheromones were way less oppressive. In terms of education, Geralt decided that the older, the better. Though he might have been biased because there were only ten humans this time.

Together they filled up only a quarter of the classroom, divided into six tables. It made the room seem rather large, though the snapdragons on the left windowsill gave it a colourful touch.

Most of the students had stopped to look at the trio when they came in and had greeted Shani eagerly. Some had curiously looked at Geralt after. When Shani had introduced Geralt, a tall girl with short, blonde hair had insisted on introducing herself and thus the rest had followed. The tall girl was called Marigold and had been paired with Maxence, a girl with a wild hairdo and a huge birthmark in her neck. They had claimed a table in the front on the far right. The table in the middle was harboring Thoma and Ragmyr, two dwarves of noble descent. Then there were Sonia and Esther on the left side of the classroom. They, in turn, had clasped arms with Geralt and heartily advised him to choose Herbology as a major. Seated behind them in the second row were Laia and Elzo and Truide and Patrick, waving as they got their books in order. Behind all of them in the third row on the right was Geralt. In the corner behind him was the door.

Class had started pretty organically as the students had hushed and turned to Shani afterwards. The way many wrote down small notes signified the amount of respect they had for the Dean, Geralt thought, since she was not even getting into the matter yet. Nor had she asked them to jot things down.  
Not all of them were as eager, though. The Witcher’s keen eyes saw Laia, Patrick and Truide refrain from making notes. They did stay quiet, however, so Geralt could not say it was suspicious behaviour per se. In fact, all were listening to Shani’s melodious voice as she introduced the new lesson and discussed the homework. For a while, silence reigned.

The lab became a little less orderly soon after, when Shani had told them to continue their experiment. The next task would be to harvest their snapdragons and make the salve. Behind his desk, Geralt prepared for the worst. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

After all, movement meant chatter.

But he could unclench his jaw again quite quickly. The amount of sound that this group created was nothing in comparison to the other.

Clusters of students moved towards the side of the room where they were to get their lab coats on. The Witcher stayed seated. After a warning look from Shani, Geralt followed, not knowing why. The Witcher did not see the use of protection. It was not like he was fighting a monster and needed armor. He knew Dandelion and Shani were going to hand out the material the students needed in the meantime, though, so he figured he should also be looking after the students near the coat rack. His eyes were on the students as they made their way back, just like Dandelion’s were. Most students picked up their equipment instantly, curious about the material and sharing it with their neighbour. Within minutes, Ragmyr, Sonia, Esther and Marigold had touched and held the silver. Four down, six to go.

Marigold looked at Geralt oddly as he just sat down on his chair, observing. She held up the book and pointed at it in plain view.

“Page 34, Geralt. The harvest paragraph.”

Reminded of his role, Geralt got his own book in front of him and looked back around whether anyone had noticed. His eyes met Dandelion’s over the heads of Truide and Patrick. The bard grinned knowingly.

When Truide looked up at the man, he turned it into a stern frown at Geralt.

“Right, let’s get started,” he supplied.

The Witcher shook his head minimally and opened his book to the right page. He had skimmed it through before, but now that he really read it, the paragraph on harvesting snapdragons made him look up and glance at Shani in wonder.

He had just assumed they would be picking the flowers off a potted plant.

Apparently, they would be harvesting the flowers, but not in any normal way. For while Geralt had thought to grab the plant by the stem, this was impossible with the snapdragon. For it was most definitely not a normal plant. It was a sentient and moving plant. Its flowers were unmistakably there but to get to the flowers, the students would have to first deal with the snapping twines that would be whipping and constricting them to protect their treasure. Enraptured, Geralt read the different techniques to do so.

A soft yell distracted the Witcher from his reading. As he located the source of the sound, he reached for his sword only to catch air. 

Right, class.

“Sonia, use your knife,” a calm voice called from Geralt’s left.

The red-haired owner of the voice appeared next to Geralt and held a hand out in front of him, under the table. She did not seem worried at all as she watched the female student get choked by the twines of a snapdragon. After a second, Sonia had gotten a hold of herself again and used her knife to cut through the twine that was constricting her.

Another student pulled the twine off her and Sonia turned around. Without doubt, she reached out and cut through all lower twines so she could reach the flowers. Again, the plant tried to get to her and the vines from the back gave her a hard time. With a steady hand she plucked a bowl full of flowers, shielding her face with her hand from the twines.

The other duos surged forward to harvest their own snapdragons when she had finished. Geralt noted that Elzo and Truide were holding the silver knives. That left Patrick, Laia, Thoma and Maxence. The three were standing near the plants. The Witcher looked at his own bowl and at Shani.

“Herbology is not for the faint-hearted,” she whispered amically. She winked at him and pointed at his knife. With a sing-song voice she continued. “Don’t forget the knife, Witcher.”

With another look at the tips in the book –cut the closest vines in order not to be strangled and then quickly harvest the flowers while holding back other snapping vines – Geralt walked over to the only snapdragon that was left. Some of the other students were already walking back to their tables with filled bowls. It was impressive. The Witcher wondered at how unfazed they all were: he figured this kind of plant would cause fear. Still, his sense of smell detected no such feature.

While he battled his own snapdragon, Dandelion walked through the classroom to observe the other students as they created their salve. Shani took Geralt’s place near the back so there was someone to stop people from leaving if need be. While standing there she instructed the duos and gave some handy tips here and there. Most of them seemed to be doing pretty well.

The Witcher himself had decided upon his own manner of handling the snapdragon. Instead of cutting the vines of the plants he had used his raw muscle to rip them from the plant. Within moments, he had gotten rid of most of the lower vines and was just getting around to harvesting flowers. Deep in concentration, he reached out for his first batch.

A breath ghosted over his ear.

“Not Maxence either.”

The Witcher’s knife shot between the stems. Instantly, a vine of the plant curled around it. While glaring back at Dandelion, Geralt was pulled forward into the plant. Hard. The movement made Dandelion yelp in worry.

The bard reached out. He put a hand on Geralt’s elbow, pulling him back. Yet instead of helping, the only thing that did was distract the Witcher. As the man looked back, another vine tugged at him from up close. Unobstructed, it slithered around his throat. Geralt pried at it with his fingers, until it pulled tight.  
At that point Geralt growled and heaved himself back. He yanked on the vines with force and ripped them. The momentum made him fall backwards and bump into Dandelion.

“By the gods, sorry,” the bard apologised. His hand let go of Geralt’s elbow as he stepped up next to him. “Shit, are you okay?”

His hand reached out and pulled up Geralt’s chin to remove the vine around his neck while Geralt yanked off the one on his arm. The action felt intimate, but nonetheless Geralt sent the bard a glare.

“Sorry, really. Bad timing,” Dandelion continued. The Witcher rolled his eyes at the understatement. At the sign of forgiveness, Dandelion leaned over and whispered. “Still, a no for Maxence.”

With a grunt, Geralt leaned forward. Ignoring the bard, he harvested the flowers. His arm was up in the air to protect himself and the bard from the whipping vines. Upon stepping away from the plant, he found his voice again.

“That leaves three,” Geralt agreed.

The bard nodded and looked at the flowers in the bowl. They were orange but some had yellow stripes on them. Dandelion plucked one from the bowl and put it behind his ear. He grinned at Geralt and struck a pose for him with the flower. The Witcher said nothing.

Dandelion shrugged.

“Happy hunting,” he sang softly to Geralt before continuing on into the classroom.

As he walked away, Geralt rolled his eyes with a fond smile. Definitely the oddest Alpha in the history of Alphas.

Before he could get too much into that train of thought, Geralt continued with his task. What followed was creating the salve, which was easier for Geralt. At least, it was more familiar to him than the harvesting process. They had to pulverize the seeds of the flower and put it into a glass container together with oil. The container would then be placed in boiling water and the two would have to infuse. Then they had to strain the oil and add it to beeswax while on a low fire, after which the salve would be put into containers and then would have to be cooled and stored for a period of at least a week.

To a Witcher, this process of creating a salve was nothing new. Geralt knew how to create numerous tinctures and the healing properties of many plants. The snapdragon, however, had not been part of the Witcher curriculum. Curious. On the other hand, none of the Witchers Geralt knew had suffered from pustules so it might simply be the result of it not being needed or dangerous.

So the act of cooking and weighing the ingredients was known to the Witcher.

In fact, he had always enjoyed it. Slowly, his heart rate went down again and the joy of it overtook him. While he worked, he kept a close eye on their three last suspects. An added factor was that Dandelion stood close to them for the longest time. He was conversing with Laia, Elzo, Patrick and Truide about his career as a bard. They seemed interested, especially Truide. The girl was hanging off of Dandelion’s lips.  
Geralt noticed that Laia and Patrick had still not touched the silver knives. Nor had Thoma. During his surveillance, Geralt of Rivia had also noticed, incidentally, that the orange flower of the snapdragon suited the bard’s blue eyes. 

After a while, the Witcher left the investigating to Dandelion and concentrated on his salve. The next step was to strain the oil and seeds above a pan of heated beeswax so he needed his focus. The cheesecloths that Geralt was to use for that were on a shelf under his station. With precision, the Witcher put his beeswax in a pan and moved to get the other pan off the fire. He raised it and held it under his nose. The snapdragon infusion smelt nice, the Witcher decided. He closed his eyes and leaned over the infusion, breathing it in deeply. A pleased sound escaped him.

A chuckle came from the right. The Witcher turned his head to find its source. 

“Is it coming together well?”

A brown mop of hair moved closer. The bard stepped behind Geralt and looked at the concoction before the latter could do anything. The vicinity of the other made Geralt put the pan back on the fire with a clang.

This had made it harder for Dandelion to see, however, so he came even closer. His head hovered next to Geralt’s as he looked into both pans. The Witcher could hear Dandelion’s breathing next to him. It surged over his neck, where his skin was sensitive.

Dandelion’s body radiated warmth against the Witcher’s back. He was close enough that Geralt’s own body was on edge.

“Hold on, Geralt, Truide’s looking,” Dandelion grunted.

He moved back and made a loud noise of contemplation. The loss of warmth was immediate, yet his words, his order, still rang through Geralt’s head. He had to push down his thoughts of obeying the man. When the Witcher scraped his throat, Dandelion continued loudly.

“Looking good, Geralt.”

There was no reaction in the classroom except for Truide turning back around. A heartbeat was all it took for the bard to lean back in again, a tad closer than before. He turned his face to Geralt’s ear and whispered.

“So far, no news about the three that are left. Have you seen anything?”

The Witcher wanted to reply but had to look for words. He had felt the bard’s voice rumble against his back and it struck a chord in him. It was deeper than normal, he noted. It made Geralt shift around. Dandelion noticed.

“Geralt?”

The Witcher grunted, trying to find his voice. Infinitesmally, he leaned back towards the bard as he raised his head and looked at the students. Pretending he was looking for clues that he had been looking for for hours already.  
It was maddening, having the bard so close but not touching him.

He found his voice somewhere among the ruins of what had been his focus.

“No. Three left, still,” he agreed.

The face next to him nodded and sighed. The sigh hit the side of Geralt’s face and a bit of his neck. He tensed, his skin on fire. It was all he could do to keep his eyes trained on the students in front of him. The man was so close, _so_ _close_. Geralt would only have to turn his face and -no. He would _not_ go there.

Even so, he wondered about what would happen if he _did_ do it. His mind wondered at how Dandelion would look up this close and how he would respond. If he would correct him or not.

“Well, at least you’re getting a good lesson out of it all,” Dandelion observed drily. With his ladle, Geralt stirred the beeswax and they both watched it. Dandelion smelled it noisily. “It smells heavenly.”

Automatically, Geralt smelled the concoction too. Of course, instead of the snapdragon, the air around him was dominated by another scent. Smoking wood and cinnamon flooded his senses. That and something more. A touch of something that reminded him of the forest. A touch of something that reminded him of home.

Geralt sat up straight when he realized what it was, full on leaning against Dandelion’s chest.

_Shit_.

The additional contact of the body of the bard against his made the fire inside Geralt lick its way through his body, burning higher and more intense now. Where before, the Witcher of Rivia had only wondered about touching the bard, he now positively yearned to do so extensively. He could not help it, he wanted to be closer to those pheromones. They smelled so heavenly, so.. _good_.

His yearning was so strong that he had to positively fight back an omega purr. Still, the absence of a physical reaction did not imply the absence of a mental reaction. Geralt longed to push himself back against the man more, feel the man flush against him. Touch the skin that had been tormenting him every morning when he woke up and saw Dandelion lie on the bed, exposed. All the repressed feelings came out at once, imagining what he wanted to do. He wanted to feel it, lick it, _scratch it_. Geralt wondered how it would feel to have the bard whisper in his ear, riling him up over and over and then using his Alpha voice suddenly when he least expected it.

The thought shocked Geralt and he looked at his table with big eyes. He pressed himself closer against the table to try and hide his arousal.

“Anyway, I wanted to,” Dandelion murmured, but then stopped. He sniffed and Geralt closed his eyes, waiting for the worst. It was silent. Then: “Esther? Esther! The cloth. Esther?!”

Amber eyes opened slowly. They zoomed in on the woman in front of him, who was holding a cloth in a flame while she held up a pan to smell it. Slowly, a flame licked its way up the cloth. Finally, Esther realized and screamed.

“Esther! **Drop the cloth!** ”

The bard instantly moved away from behind Geralt. His warmth flew away to stomp on the cloth together with Esther. 

Behind him, though, Geralt was left gripping the table. There was a splinter in his hands from how hard he was gripping it, he was sure. All the while, he stared at Dandelion.

Over and over, his head replayed the Alpha voice. He felt electricity run up and down his body as he heard the gravel in the voice again and again. Gods, Geralt wanted to arch his back to that voice, yearned to bow down to it. His body wanted to revere the man.

Logically, he knew he couldn’t. There were a lot of things making that impossible. At that exact moment, however, Geralt of Rivia did not give a flying fuck.

Normally, smelling someone’s pheromones like this would make anyone heady. But the Alpha voice and smelling the pheromones at the same time?

It made Geralt clench his jaw together to push away any sounds that he wanted to make. He had never before encountered such a combination. Sure, he had heard men order Omegas around. He had smelled dozens of pheromones before. They had always smelled good to him, that was true. Yet none were like Dandelion. The smell of the bard would not leave him, even when he had gone. It lingered and draped over him, trapping him and luring Geralt in.  
The pheromones were enough to make Geralt want to walk over to the man and kneel next to him. The addition of his Alpha voice, however, had sealed the deal. The Omega in Geralt reared its head and keened from deep below. It came up with an intense need, a need to be told he had done well enough, a need to hear boundaries. A need to hear what he had to do to be … _his_.

Geralt’s mind was exploding and he could not reel it in. It was all over the place, or rather, all over Dandelion, and Geralt could not- he should – _Fuck it all to hell!_

Geralt _had_ to reign himself in. He punched his thigh hard to stop it.

Sadly pain wasn't enough to distract him. Had he mentioned the orange snapdragon flower suited the bard well?

* * *

After worrying over Esther and the cloth, Shani and Dandelion had determined the danger had passed. Esther had gotten off with only a scare and a firm reprimand from Shani. The girl with beautiful black curls had apologized profusely. Since she had always been a stellar student, the professor knew not to make it too big of a problem. It had not been on purpose, after all.

Class had ended on a positive note, though, because Dandelion had been able to test all remaining students and none had reacted to the silver. So Shani could finally be certain her students were not out to get her.

It relieved her immensely.

In fact, it relieved her so much she invited Dandelion and Geralt for dinner together with two colleagues called Iola and Rusty. They both taught medicine as well, though Iola also practiced magic on the side. Shani invited them enthusiastically waving her arms around when relief set in and only then had Geralt been able to avert his mind from other things.

Still, he had quickly murmured that he would meet them at Shani’s room because he wanted to tend to Roach first. He had left quickly after.

Dandelion and Shani had shared a look, worried he was feeling overwhelmed again.

* * *

After two hours of caring for his horse and murmuring his thoughts to her, Geralt returned to society. Not as positive as he’d hoped, however. The tactic that usually helped Geralt calm down, had only made him more taciturn and difficult. He had not been able to help it, since he’d come to the conclusion that he had better put a stop to this all. It was best when he didn’t feel anything, when he let nothing divert him from his path.

The fact that his mind went back to that situation in the classroom again and again, however, was not helping things. So he had forced himself to stomp it down but he was finding it harder and harder these days to do so. The Witcher had a sinking feeling he was not in control of his own person anymore and precisely that was what made him so annoyed.

Luckily, Dandelion had no such problem and thus amused the party. He had been boasting of his songs to their companions and played his lute for them. Every now and then, though, there was a quick look in Geralt’s direction that Shani would notice. When the Witcher would not reply or give Dandelion any attention, the bard would continue on to play even more jovially.

Yet when Geralt was still sulking when she’d brought in the dessert, Shani had taken it upon herself to talk to him. It seemed to her that the Witcher was being pretty hard on himself for being overwhelmed by the classrooms filled with people. After all, he had enhanced senses and so she figured, often suffered from that sensitivity.

She struck up a conversation while everyone was occupied.

“Why so moody Geralt? Were you overwhelmed again?”

The Witcher was silent. 

All the while, Shani observed. Refraining from asking him anything, she sat against the back of her chair. It was cold even though the temperature in the room was pretty high by now.  
In the background Dandelion was singing the song he’d made about giving coin to a Witcher and she lounged, listening to it as she watched.

Then she couldn’t resist and she leaned over.

“It seems to me that there must be other ways to block what you are feeling,” she offered.

The Witcher looked up at her and back at the company around them. Dandelion was sitting on the other side of the table and occupying Iola and Rusty, while Shani sat at the head of the table next to him. Nobody had heard her and none were paying attention.

He looked at his hand. His fist had now clenched, Shani noticed.

“A Witcher does not feel anything. _Should_ not feel anything.”

Her eyebrows drew together as she listened. It was not an answer to her suggestion. Besides that, his voice felt raw and his words made no sense to her. She could feel in the way he said it, however, that it mattered to him. That he felt it was wrong to be so overpowered by his hypersensitivity. That he was less because it had happened to him. 

“That’s not true,” she soothed. “In the end, you’re still human. You cannot help it.”

There was a sad smile on the Witcher’s face when she finished talking. Again, he said nothing.

“You’re allowed to feel things, Geralt. You just need to know how to deal with it.”

At that, Geralt looked up and regarded her for some time. Then he looked in the direction of the bard as he played on his lute and sang.

“You don’t understand what that means,” he murmured. Before she could tell him to help her to, he raised his hand, abruptly ending the conversation. “Let’s just listen to Dandelion.”

The action left her flabbergasted. Just like that, the Witcher had closed up again, where one moment before, Shani had sworn he had tried to open up.

Sighing, she sagged down in her chair and drank deeply from her wine glass.

Men were so difficult, sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! this had me blushing while writing it - but the next chapter is even better ;)  
> Please let me know what you think and leave a comment!


	7. In which Geralt bathes

The comment Shani had made had Geralt’s mind reeling. He refused to give in to the thought of being allowed to feel things. Still, Shani quickly became a nagging voice in his head whenever he tried to get rid of any emotion he felt. It was bothersome and it made Geralt spend more time on the matter than he wanted to. In fact, he’d rather not think about this at all.

Avoidance had always worked well for him. So, that night, Geralt drank copious amounts of ale to drown his sorrow. Merry as always, Dandelion joined and they ended up howling ridiculous songs while Dandelion tried to get some chords in on his lute. It did the Witcher good, not feeling anything other than the high of being drunk.

The morning after was a different story.

Barely able to open his eyes from the headache, Geralt had blindly groped his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. He grabbed some willow bark to chew on against the pain and worked on opening his eyes by throwing some water into his face. It took an embarrassingly long time to feel human again.

When he finally walked out, Geralt looked around. Light from the window was pure torture and Geralt did not understand his companion. The blinds of the poster bed had yet again not been drawn. In the middle of the huge bed, Dandelion lay, sprawled out. There were no blankets on him. He was naked, save for his smalls.

The Witcher stopped his movement.

Cocking his head to the side, he observed the man. It only now occurred to the Witcher that the bard was rather tan. All over. Geralt’s eyes traced the man’s torso, wondering where he had gotten the hint of muscle that was visible. The man had not been specifically enthusiastic to work out during their travelling, after all.

It must have been all the walking.

Now that he lay there so defenseless, Geralt wondered how this man could be an Alpha. Still, he had the sign and the voice, like all Alphas. The fact of the matter was, though, that Dandelion was not like any Alpha Geralt had ever encountered before. Not like the Alphas the Witchers had been trained to withstand. That must have been the reason that Dandelion had so utterly slipped past his defences, he pondered.

As he watched the bard, he thought back to all the selfless and degrading tasks the man had taken on. How easily he had accepted Geralt as the better man – sometimes even in terms of chivalry.

The Witcher grinned when he remembered being Dandelion’s bodyguard. How the man had cleaned him that night and groomed himStill, he remembered the feeling of Dandelion’s fingers massaging his scalp and the sponge cleaning his back. He could hear Dandelion humming one of his songs while he worked. His soft hands touching coarse skin and lathering the soap on his hair. . The only salvation for Geralt then had been the fact that winter had just passed and so he had dropped recently. Otherwise, that would have been a dangerous situation. But where before, this feeling alone had made Geralt feel all sorts of things, it did not end there anymore, now.

Now, he imagined Dandelion scratching his head while washing it.

It made him groan, which startled him.

Highly embarrassed, Geralt drew a hand over his face and shook his head. Quickly, he walked over to the sofa and got dressed.

_He had to get over this._

Geralt could not afford an Alpha. He was a Witcher, dammit. It was time he got it through his thick skull. This was not only giving his friendship an extra edge it did not need, but it also seriously impaired him as a Witcher to have an Alpha. Besides, it impaired his judgement. Next to that, it would hurt the image of Witchers worldwide. His friends, no, his family would suffer if word got out – there would be even less new children joining than there already were. Nobody would take them serious anymore. They would be the last Witchers in existence, if that happened.  
No. Geralt would not be responsible for that. Geralt had the hunt. He had the hunt and his Path and that was that.

With tremendous force Geralt pushed the feeling away. He made himself grab his gear and strap it on.

A tiny voice in his head could not leave it alone, though. _Shani had said he was allowed_ _to feel things. He was only human at heart, after all._

The thought was enough to make the Witcher’s feelings flare up again. He immediately thought of those hands again, the feel of that body behind him. Wanted to explore the man’s skin for himself and hear that Alpha voice whisper to him softly. He had to hear that gravelly voice again, wanted to feel it resonate inside.

Geralt strapped on his sword last of all and sighed.

He needed to get out of this place. Within moments he left the room, ready to get this out of his system.

* * *

In order to distract himself, Geralt did what he did best: he worked the case. He distracted his mind with the best riddle he momentarily had.

All his facts were re-examined. All of Shani’s students had been resistant to silver. That meant that the culprit was either part of the staff or the people working at the Academy itself and had been present on the day they had looked through the halls at the academy. Of the people in the academy that day, they had tested most of the people that had left, tested those that had remained and checked all students. That left people who had been able to leave in a way unknown to Dandelion and Geralt.

The Witcher figured it was time to talk to the groundskeeper again.

* * *

A patch of baldness on top of the head of the man distracted the Witcher when he finally found him. The first time he had seen the man, he thought the man had been in his forties, but he now saw he was wrong. The man was vivacious and ran pretty quickly, so that was probably where the confusion came in. The groundskeeper was wearing a vest and some jeans that had been splattered with various materials already, so Geralt could see the man was used to hard work. His hands had calluses on them and he had a pencil behind his ear. In his chest pocket he had a piece of parchment that had words scribbled on it.

Geralt liked the man. Not only because of his enthusiasm about his work, but also because his big blue eyes twinkled when the Witcher asked for his help.

Together, they discussed the situation. Geralt’s deductions did not confound the man at all. The idea that there were other entrances was not at all odd, he concluded, seeing as the place was very old. He merely thought that all the extra exits and entries would have been mapped by now. So at his suggestion they took out the blueprints of the building and walked around the first floor, opening doors and interrupting classes. They divided the hallway and decided that if they found something, they would call for the other first.

It had been quick work from that moment onward, really. It took them twenty minutes before Tommen, the groundskeeper, came running. The man had gone down the stairs into a maintenance room. It had a few sinks in it for the cleaners and an overflow gutter, leading to an entry into the sewer via a storm drain. The lid had been askew when he had walked in, he explained enthusiastically, and that was that.

When Geralt followed Tommen in, he idly wondered how long the cleaners had not cleaned the room itself.

Still, after one look at the unscrewed sides of the lid, he knew this was the escape route they had been discussing. He nodded at Tommen and the man held up a hand, running away with a shout about prints of the sewage system.

Geralt moved away the lid and strapped everything on tight. When Tommen returned he showed him the map and they studied it together for a while, determining where they were. The information was priceless and the Witcher held out his hand in thanks for all Tommen had done. The man clasped his arm instead and they held onto one another like that for a second, Tommen accepting no thanks for doing his job and wishing the Witcher good luck.

Then it was time for the best remedy of all: the hunt.

* * *

The dark of the tunnels gave Geralt free reign to focus on his senses and look for traces. Not for all of them, though. His sense of smell was no use in the stench of the tunnel system. His eyes were perfectly capable of seeing in the dark, however, so he spotted tracks in no time. Further down the tunnel, there was an entry through a manhole cover with the obligatory underground ladder leading down. Underneath it, they had built a recess with a small ledge for the workers to work on. That was where the footprints began.

All the way down the tunnel they went, two lefts and three rights before the steps stopped underneath another manhole cover. By the time Geralt had arrived there, he had found out that the drainage system indeed lead to the actual sewers. The smell was horrid, but it did not matter to him. Wandering around here was like therapy to him. The hunt was what he lived for and what mattered.

It reminded him of the adrenaline he needed in his life, the enhanced senses he had and the purpose for them. There was a relish he felt when he held his sword and swirled it around, that he needed in his life. A kind of satisfaction in being stealthy and feeling his muscles tighten, ready to jump or sprint at a moment’s notice. They were skills he had chiseled out of the rock that had been his body over many years, together with his tutors. And the moment those skills all came together and worked were the epitome of that training. The many years of training at Kaer Morhen had formed him, they had created him. This was the gift they had given him. So he owed it to them to honor them. By following the Path and the Hunt.

Without them, he would be lying dead in a ditch near Kaer Morhen. In an orphanage, if he had been very lucky.

No, he could not give this up. This was his Path, his life. It was what he was meant to do. And that did not come with a sexual orientation. It did not feature an Alpha, Omega or Beta. Those things would only distract and hurt their reputation. No, Geralt’s life could not feature an alpha, simply because it featured saving humans and keeping the balance between chaos and peace.

Still, as Geralt paced through the tunnels, he could not stop a small voice inside saying that those were rules about _normal_ Alphas. Those that did not want to travel, kept their Omegas at home, would defend them and could not keep a Witcher secret. And hadn’t he come to the conclusion Dandelion was different?

* * *

Covered in gore, the Witcher stepped out of the Academy building. He could smell himself even while breathing through his mouth. The man spotted himself in a window he passed. His hair was black as a result of slipping and going under in the sewers and there were goops of gunk all over his clothing. He left footprints that Tommen had immediately started mopping up behind him. Even if a person hadn’t seen that, though, they would have heard Geralt move around due to the squishing whenever he put his boots down. The wet sewage blueprints dripped on the floor and left a trace, too.

Yet Geralt was happy with his progress. Finally he had something to show for his work.

He walked out of the building with a feeling of satisfaction. Then stopped when he saw the enormous amount of students in the courtyard. The air vibrated with the amount of pheromones present. Thankfully there were no Alpha voices being used. Still, Geralt was momentarily transported back to a few days ago when he had let it get to him.   
Determined to not give in this time, he walked through the crowd with his head held high and shoulders pulled back.

Then he heard his name being called from among the thrall of people.

“Geralt? Geralt?! Geralt! Gods, where have you been?!?! I’ve been looking for you all morning,” a voice yelled and then the crowd parted for a brown-haired man. There was a loud gasp. “– by the seas, you smell. What the hell are you covered in?”

Dandelion ran his mouth as he crossed the square on his way to Geralt and stopped right in front of him, hands on his hips and a frown on his face.

“Don’t you dare tell me it’s selkiemore guts because the last time I had to get those out it took me an _hour_.”

Geralt handed over the papers, grunting. He continued towards the staff building, but felt a little less uncomfortable with Dandelion next to him. Deep breaths brought him Dandelion’s smell of forest and cinnamon.

“What’s this? Prints,” following Geralt back into the building, Dandelion poured over them. “The sewage- oh! That’s why you’re covered in muck! You found an escape route through the sewers!”

There was a short nod and then Geralt went up the stairs, where they encountered the same servant as before. This time the man ran past them quickly, averting his eyes as soon as he had seen the fright that was next to Dandelion. He stared back up when he had passed them, eyes as big as saucers.

Dandelion paid him no mind and followed Geralt, gushing over the discovery.

“Brilliant! Now, how do we catch it? Do you know where he went?”

“Tracks ended up at a storm drain in town but I cannot blend in very well, so I found another solution by looking around. I slipped.”

“Ah… about that, Geralt,” Dandelion said, taking in the amount of wet filth and substances on the Witcher and his clothing. “We need to go to Shani soon. The Chancellor wants to hear about our progress first and then Shani is joining a third year day of field work. I figured we could join her since we can stand to the side as the third years tend to the gardens.”

Dandelion opened the door to their room and gave way to Geralt. The man grunted and winced when he walked into the room, gritting his teeth as he went. Oblivious, Dandelion closed the door behind them.

“I can’t tend to gardens,” the Witcher countered matter-of-factly. “I need to lie in wait for the doppler.”

As he walked through the room, Geralt started getting off his gear and held it all in one hand. After quickly depositing the filthy material in the corner of the bathroom, he removed his shirt as well as his pants there, too.

“You won’t be tending to them,” Dandelion plied. “Geralt, you don’t seriously want us to stand in the sewers all day for the potential chance this person might come by? They might do nothing today. Or tomorrow. Might not need to escape.”

Geralt came out. He was agitated at all the worries he had had lately and did not need this conversation to add to it. Besides, he had decided it might be best to keep their encounters strictly professional. He looked pointedly at Dandelion.

“I’m not asking you to join.”

The bard had put the prints on the table and had been looking at them, but glanced up when Geralt answered. The moment his eyes found Geralt, the man stilled. The Witcher noticed the change and looked up.

It was only then that he realized he was standing in front of Dandelion half naked. _So far for strictly professional interactions_ , he mentally scolded himself. Then again, he had been in this situation multiple times. Dandelion had seen him while in the bath tub, too.   
Yet this time, with the bard scrutinising his body, Geralt’s frown left his face and he felt a thrill go through him.   
  
It took longer than normal for Dandelion to reply and when he did, he first scraped his throat and let his eyes slowly roam over the Witcher’s body. After an eternity, they seemed to settle on the Witcher’s amber eyes, but then they travelled up to his hair.

Dandelion harrumphed.

“Regardless,” the bard informed him agitatedly, “You cannot meet the Chancellor looking like this.”

Without explaining himself he walked over to the bathroom and Geralt could hear him turn on the tap. Water gushed into the bath loudly. The Witcher grabbed an old towel and cleaned his face with it before walking over to refold the map on the table neatly. When he looked up, Dandelion had walked out of the bathroom and was observing him, an odd look on his face.

“Have a bath,” Dandelion stated. “I could smell you from the other side of the courtyard.”

Meekly, Geralt shrugged. It hurt to hear Dandelion disapprove of him but he could deal with worse. He should be able to deal with way worse. Besides, he would not mind such a thing in a professional interaction, either.

“I will be in the sewers again after. Would be a waste of water to wash.”

The bard pointed at the door then.

“But also a waste of my fine sense of smell if you don’t. Get in there. Tell me when you’re ready for me to clean your hair.”

The order was unmistakable. So was the irritation.

Sighing, Geralt walked into the bathroom and dropped the towel on the growing pile of laundry. It was an order he could not refuse. While he moved, Dandelion put a clean towel on the floor of the room behind him and closed the door.   
When he saw the steam rising from the bath, Geralt agreed that a bath wouldn’t hurt. He did smell; Tommen had told him so, too.

Not that he could smell it. His nose was filled with a new smell: the water smelled different. Geralt spotted bottle of essence of citrus nearby and rolled his eyes at the excess this place exuded. Still, he sank down into the water and watched it turn brown as he soaked and washed himself. The warmth was rejuvenating and restored his mood.  
Before long, he figured the water was so brown he had better redraw the bath. Stepping out of the bath, he drained it and turned on the tap again. When he stepped in with one leg, the door opened with a bang.

“Don’t you dare drain that bath, Geralt, I am not about to enter a conversation with a Chancellor with you smelling like shi-” Blue eyes looked from a naked Geralt to the bath. The clean water was steaming again. The Witcher glanced back and stepped in quickly, sitting down with his back to Dandelion, throwing some water over his head as he did so. “Oh. Right. Ready for your hair?”

“I can clean my hair just fine,” Geralt objected _. Professional interactions, only_.

The Witcher looked back and glanced pointedly at the door, but the bard stood there silently. His eyes met Geralt’s. Then he quirked his eyebrow. Again. The look brought back memories and instantly, the Witcher could feel himself heating up.   
Coughing, he turned and pulled in a small towel from the side of the bath to cover himself. By not looking back around he knew he had deferred to the man, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Truly pressing matters.

Geralt closed his eyes and tried to distract himself.

The bard closed the door behind him. Geralt heard him walk over to the sink. He probably went for the bottle of expensive liquid soap. Dandelion had insisted they get a bottle from a servant, Geralt recalled, claiming his hair had never felt as good as when it had been washed with Oxenfurt soap. Again, the luxury made Geralt wonder how people here would survive travelling. Actually, he wondered how Dandelion could stand travelling on the road with him. Geralt gladly grasped at the subject, thinking of anything but that quirked eyebrow.

There was a small stool in the corner that Dandelion picked up.

“Dunk your head under, Geralt. Your hair needs to soak.”

There was no alpha voice, but the demand still struck Geralt’s core. For a moment he heard that gravel again, felt the man’s body behind his own. Felt the ghost of a breath against his right ear.

Still, this demand sounded more annoyed than balanced, like Dandelion usually was.

With difficulty, Geralt stayed seated. His whole body screamed for him to obey the man, worse than before: he was responsible for this mood. Whether that was because of his current state or because he did not want him to help, Geralt did not know. Still, he forced himself to resist and keep things professional. For himself. For the Witchers. For his Path.

Dandelion put the stool down behind him and sat down unceremoniously, interrupting Geralt’s stubborn look by leaning around the man and staring at him. They watched one another quietly and with unwavering looks, until Dandelion’s features softened as he looked at the Witcher’s hair, again.

“Please, Geralt. Let me.”

The man crinkled his nose when he glanced at Geralt’s hair. His eyes were pleading, now. And if it mattered that much to the bard, then Geralt figured one not _entirely_ professional interaction would not be a problem. He would just have to make it fast and clean. No feelings attached.

Grunting, Geralt glared at the man and leaned back, pressing on the towel in his lap.

“Make it quick,” he grunted.

Whilst smiling broadly, the bard pulled his sleeves up. Then he unceremoniously pushed Geralt down into the bath tub and underwater. While he was under, the fingers of Dandelion’s hand moved through the Witcher’s hair and another joined. Both hands cleaned the hair and separated the strands. The feeling was divine.

The Witcher surfaced in order to breathe.

Behind him, Dandelion was humming a song. The hot bath steamed up the whole bathroom and when Geralt looked around, Dandelion’s hair was sticking out a bit. It looked… different. He observed the bard through his eyelashes as the man lathered his hands with soap. His blue eyes were distracted.   
Suddenly, the whole situation felt much more intimate than it had when Dandelion had washed his hair before. Like Dandelion was closer than he had been before when this happened.   
Which was utter nonsense, of course. Besides, he was to make it a quick and clean session.

Unaware, Dandelion met his eyes and motioned for him to turn back around. Willingly, the Witcher turned around and awaited the hands on his head. Instead, the hands pulled up his hair and started at his nape, softly kneading the muscles there. This approach to washing hair was new. Groaning, Geralt decided he was not opposed to it. He leaned back against the edge of the tub and let Dandelion’s hands work their magic. The bard chuckled and the humming became a soft singing.

After, Dandelion’s hands retreated again. When they came back, they put all of Geralt’s hair on top of his head and tied it together with a leather band. Then his fingers massaged his nape again, going up and up, higher and higher.

Geralt revelled in the feeling of being cared for and lost himself in the rhythm of the massage. There was warmth all around him and someone to help him if need be. His eyes closed.

“By the gods it smells,” Dandelion murmured inbetween songs. “Putrid, is what it is.”

Geralt grunted sluggishly.

“I have the perfect hiding spot now.”

The fingers were now on top of his head and Geralt felt them put pressure on the skin of his scalp as they dragged down. His whole body went taut like a string.

“Even so, I think we should go to the field day, today. We’ve only seen students leave and we need to rule out the third years,” he thought aloud. His fingers moved to the side of Geralt’s head and he put pressure on his fingers again to work his way through the hair. “Besides, what’s the use of the sewers if we have no clue whether they are going to strike or not?”

The Witcher said nothing. Instead, he was trying with all his might to not feel anything. Which was not going very well.

In short, it had been a battle he’d lost as soon as Dandelion had touched him. He could feel the haze of subspace coming on.

“I vote we see the Chancellor for Shani’s sake and then we go to the field day. We can stand on the side, their voices will be less audible and besides, we do not have to interact with them at all. We can just let Shani have them use silver scissors or sign for being present with a silver pen.”

While he was speaking, his hands had loosened Geralt’s hair and when he had finished, he forced him to go under again. When Geralt surfaced, Dandelion lathered his hands with soap once more and started washing his hair in earnest, really getting into it. He was pulling on Geralt’s hair while doing so and it was doing all sorts of things to Geralt’s body, not to mention to the subspace pulling at him. He was having a hard time fighting back.  
When Dandelion started scraping his nails over his scalp, though, the man leaned his head back voluntarily and groaned his approval. His chest started vibrating at the continued assault of the bard’s nails, but he quickly closed his mouth to keep the rumble from moving up his vocal chords and becoming a purr. Even though he wanted to purr, if only to encourage Dandelion to keep touching him like this. 

The reaction of the Witcher made Dandelion chuckle and when Geralt looked back around, the bard had the audacity to look smug. His blue eyes were electrifying when they twinkled.

“What? It’s not a crime to like to see my clients satisfied.”

Normally, Geralt would have answered with a scathing reply. Yet normally, there wouldn’t have been hands on his head that pushed him down under again and got out all the shampoo with massaging hands. He tapped Geralt’s head to have him come up again and then Geralt felt a presence next to his head. Next to him, Dandelion smelled his hair just like an Alpha would a neck. The sound was so close and so intimate it made Geralt respond immediately.

It also made him sincerely thank all the gods in the world for the towel on the side of the bathtub, earlier.

“There, that’s better. Less smelly, at least,” Dandelion judged, then poured a bit of shampoo directly onto Geralt’s hair. It made Geralt curious so he smelled the air too. Only to be doused with a huge amount of pheromones smelling like cinnamon, smoked wood and the forest. _Shit_. “Right, the last rinse.”

The combination of the smell and Dandelion’s hands that had started working at his hair again and pulling at it, made the tendrils of subspace ensnare him. They slowly pulled him over the edge.

The vibration in the Witcher’s chest slowly became a bit of a rumble. When he realized, Geralt startled. He tried to squish it down, but stopped it too late. It had been audible, even if only for a second.

The Witcher sat still, mortified.

Dandelion did not quit or react to the sound at all, save for arching an eyebrow.

“Geralt? So - are you okay with joining the field day?”

The question saved Geralt, really. After a moment he scraped his throat.

“No,” he replied honestly. He looked at his legs as he tried to fight the smell of the pheromones around him. “I need to be in the sewers. The doppler has been acting more and more recently and – hmm – we need to catch him. Maybe we should split up.”

“Split up?” Geralt nodded. The bard made a thoughtful sound and then acquiesced. “All right. I suppose it makes sense. Only if you promise me to tell me all the details after, though.”

“I will.”

Geralt could almost hear the bard pout. He looked around.

“You won’t,” Dandelion objected sorely. His hands continued their massaging again and it made Geralt close his eyes for a short moment. Then Dandelion’s blue eyes twinkled. “I guess I will have to force it out of you with another head massage.”

He pressed his fingertips against Geralt’s head and drew them back, occasionally scraping his nails against Geralt’s head. The Witcher groaned, then opened his eyes again worriedly, opening his mouth to reply. Unabashed, Dandelion met his look and scraped his fingers down the man’s scalp, his fingers parting around his ears and softly massaging them too. It was the first time he had done so, but it made Geralt lose it. It was close to Geralt’s tattoo, where their skin was most sensitive. The movement was so unexpected that he could not respond. The only thing he could do was zero in on the feeling of those callused fingers sliding past his tattoo.

Geralt wondered what it would feel like if the man would pull on his hair and scratch his mark. His head lowered a bit in relaxation.

Dandelion pulled Geralt’s head back up, not leaving any room for objection. His hands massaged Geralt’s head again and he cleaned Geralt’s ears thoroughly, at intervals scratching his head and pulling the hair a bit. It felt so good Geralt moved his head to the side, unconsciously displaying the tattoo of his wolf to Dandelion.

Lost in the feeling, Geralt closed his eyes. Dandelion leaned over and smelled the Witcher’s hair noisily, but it was near the tattoo and it felt like he was smelling _him_. Geralt bit his lip and groaned, baring his throat further. Dandelions eyes flashed and he made a small sound.

“Hmm, that’s right,” he drawled.

The words made Geralt snap open his eyes again and he felt a heat rush go through him. Dandelion ignored it. The thrill of the massage had caught him and he was unabashedly circling Geralt’s wolf with his fingers on his skin now. It made Geralt press down on the towel in his lap hard.

After a while, Dandelion breathed in with a gasp and moved away from the wolf to his hair again. The movements were less sensuous now and the pheromones lessened. In fact, Dandelion started humming a song about an epic that he had taught Geralt, which made Geralt slowly come back from the depth of his being.

When the last pieces of filth were out, Dandelion slowly pushed Geralt down into the water again.

Geralt came up quickly, spluttering loudly at the action. It made Dandelion laugh and then he scooped up some water and let it drip over the Witcher’s head instead. He did so a few more times while Geralt found his breath and got back to his surroundings. When Dandelion was done he put his hands on Geralt’s head again and rubbed over it for a short while, then stood up.

Without looking back he walked over to the huge towel he had put down on the floor before and put it next to the tub for Geralt to reach.

“Right, you’re done. Time to meet the Chancellor.”

Blinking, Geralt looked up. Mentally he had understood what the man had said, but emotionally he was still hanging on the edge of subspace.

“I’ll get us a sandwich to go. Meet you downstairs in ten?”

When Geralt didn’t reply, Dandelion tapped his shoulder.   
  
“Hello?”

It helped, and Geralt found his voice again.

“Fine. Downstairs in ten.”

With a huge smile, Dandelion straightened and nodded at him.

“I’ll get you one with that cheese you liked. See you there!”

He closed the door behind him and left the other room quickly after. Geralt could not say the same, though, for he was left with a small (or rather, enlarged) problem to take care of, first.

In the end he joined Dandelion ten minutes late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think. I rewrite each chapter like 3 times before deeming it even a little bit okay and honest, hearing what you guys think helps with that =)


	8. In which Geralt takes a swim

# Chapter 8

The meeting with the Chancellor, Nicodemus de Boot, was interesting, to say the least. The portly, bald man with small spectacles had met them with a rather stiff posture. Then positively demanded more information about Dopplers. After the Chancellor found out Dopplers were not resistant to silver he insisted they all hold a silver knife and only then did he want to continue the conversation. Then, the trio had been questioned rigorously regarding dopplers, actions they had taken and the alibis of Shani.  
Still, the man proved to be added value to their team, considering he immediately decided two of his servants would be dispatched to stand guard at the exit to the sewers that Geralt had indicated. In normal attire they would not attract unwanted attention, besides, it might give them an advantage in the future. Or they could catch the culprit there if it had defeated Geralt.

Dandelion had seemed a bit frayed around the edges at the mention of Geralt being bested in a fight.

Ultimately, the older man was an empathic ally that seemed to treasure Shani as a Dean. When Shani had become emotional during the explanation he had thrown an arm around her and sat her down, clenching her shoulder in support. The gesture was so warm Shani had smiled through her tears, thanking him for his trust. The Witcher and the bard could only agree.  
While the man leaned down to soothe Shani, Geralt spotted the Beta mark behind his ear. A glance at Dandelion told Geralt the bard had not seen it.

Geralt’s thumbs stopped twiddling. Though Geralt was an obvious supporter of progress, this took him by surprise. Still, he had respect for the man: to make it this far he must be overqualified, even.

The situation made Geralt ponder. Until Dandelion elbowed the white-haired man in order to make him participate in the conversation again.

After about half an hour of going through Geralt’s plan, offering them the guarding servants and telling them he would gladly help wherever he could, the Chancellor bade them goodbye. He had a meeting to prepare for and Shani acquiesced she had to get to the field day, so the group left.

Outside the room Dandelion proclaimed loudly that he’d love to encounter such helpful patrons more often in terms of Witcher business, which Geralt could only grunt to in agreement. The two of them shared a look as they walked down the hallway. The amount of times he had been looked down at, had been called the Butcher of Blaviken, had been denied his coin – they had been numerous.

“Right. The third years are waiting,” Shani said, hoisting up her bag once more. It was purple and had a golden sun embroidered on it. She had trouble lifting it up on her shoulder, but did not complain. “Let’s get going, Mr. Assistant!”

With flair she swung open the doors of the back exit and stepped into the fresh air. Before Geralt could follow, a hand fell on his shoulder. With a frown, Geralt’s eyes followed the arm up to Dandelion’s face. His gaze was pointedly anywhere but on his friend.

The bard stood there, indecisive, then squared his shoulders and looked up at the Witcher.

“Just. Don’t get killed. A bard needs a muse. Okay?”

Geralt cocked his head to the side and sent him an unwavering look, then looked down at Dandelion’s hands. They were worrying over his doublet buttons. It made the Witcher’s meet Dandelion’s eyes again.

“Okay.”

The adam’s apple of the bard bobbed up and down at the word. Geralt opened the door to the Academy grounds and walked out first.

* * *

The world of the sewage system of Oxenfurt was one of fear and intimidation. A visitor either scared the rats or the rats scared them. In the case of Geralt of Rivia, one could hazard a guess which way the scale tipped. With the occasionally an angry yell at one that came too close, the Witcher made his way through the pipes. It was not necessary to be vigilant yet, after all. The Doppler was likely not even down in the tunnels.

The Witcher navigated the system with the blueprint and found a hiding spot. He had spotted a small alcove in a tunnel that was large enough to hide him and to provide enough shadow for him to be barely visible in his black armour. Admittedly, his white hair was of no benefit here. It was why he had initially refused to shower. He would have to make do, now, though.

Next to the alcove the water of the sewers rushed by. The water near the alcove moved with the current and it ended in the bigger basin at the end, where Geralt had slipped before. The sound of the water was calming where the scent of the place made Geralt wish for Dandelion’s ridiculous smelling salts.

Standing there, waiting for hours, he wondered about the field day and the motivation of this Doppler to go after a Dean. In all the years the Witcher had known her, Geralt had never thought Shani was malevolent. In the earlier doppler case, with Dudu, his double had proved financially interesting, but Shani had a regular income. It was not like her purse ran over. So that lead led nowhere.  
The victims the doppler had chosen so far seemed to have no connection, either, other than having to do with the Academy. Nor was it adamantly clear that the culprit was a student or colleague, considering their actions. They had mainly been to incriminate Shani and get her fired. He did not like considering it, but if this plan did not bring them any answers, they would have to go through all her students from the previous semester. To determine whether she had flunked any that could now harbor a bad will towards her.

It was a good plan B, he decided, though he disliked to social side of it. He crouched down and sat on the floor. He had been waiting for several hours already and his patience was wearing thin. Much like Dandelion’s patience with him, earlier today. The Witcher wondered idly where that had come from. It seemed to have been without precedent, but Geralt was continuously surprised by the amount of dramatics Dandelion could come up with. Truly, the man was the oddest Alpha alive. He could not be the one judge, though, Geralt being one of the oddest Omega’s to be alive.

Suddenly Geralt heard scuffling come from the general area of the Academy building. Quick and superficial breathing followed the clang of boots fumbling down the iron steps into the sewers. With careful, precise movements, Geralt stood. He pulled his blizzard potion out of his pouch and tossed back its content. While they settled in his stomach, he listened. A calm fell over him as his body reacted to the potion, increasing his reactional abilities. 

The Witcher slowly peered around the corner. A dark shape was making its way towards Geralt, hood concealing them and no apparent weapons.

Geralt crouched, ready to pounce when the doppler passed. The man ambled along the ledge that Geralt had found the footprints on, like he had predicted. Soon the man would pass him. The Witcher flicked out his silver knife. In the other he held the silver chains he had rooted in his bags for. Anticipation made his hairs stand on edge.

A foot came into view and then another. Before the visitor could realize anyone was there, Geralt lunged. He grabbed for an arm to bind the doppler. A loud surprised exclamation followed. It grated on his sensitive hearing, but Geralt could not afford to lose his focus. He held the doppler’s arm tightly and danced around the body as the doppler whipped out a small dagger. He turned the arm onto its back and pulled it tight, making the being scream out in pain. The dagger made its way back towards Geralt. He parried it easily with his free arm and threw it into the water.

The doppler cursed so imaginatively that Zagrin would be proud. Geralt wound his other arm around the doppler as he reached for his silver necklace. Before he could extract it, though, there were more sounds behind them.  
Worried about an ambush, Geralt turned his head.

One second, his focus lapsed.

The doppler grabbed his armor with the hands on his back and shifted his weight. The Witcher was pulled over the edge just as he saw another figure emerge from the dark.

There was no time to see who it was though, for Geralt fell into the water with the man. Geralt rushed towards the surface. He broke it and looked around for his victim. Left!

Geralt lunged again, silver chain now in his hands.

With a yelp, both of them went down again. Amid the muck and gore, Geralt tried to grab the hands of the being. His hands could not find purchase on the Doppler’s skin, though. The creature seemed to have become an eel, courtesy of the sewage water.  
Irritated, Geralt surfaced to breathe and saw the doppler do the same. Its hood had come down and Geralt could see it still looked like Shani. His strong legs kicked him towards the lookalike. Before both of them could do anything, though, the current increased and they were hurled into the big basin.

The Witcher went under again.

Swimming up took longer this time. His breath was like fire in his lungs when he surfaced and looked for the doppler. The red-haired lookalike was making its way towards a grate and Geralt followed. He went under again, reaching for Shani’s legs instead, but the being dislodged his hands efficiently. With a kick. Underwater fighting was not proving to be Geralt’s domain, he decided. When he came up he looked for anything to use to his advantage, but found nothing. The lookalike was already at the grate.

With a quick breast stroke, Geralt got over to the grate in time to see Shani go under and resurface on the other side. The doppler waved gleefully and continued on its way. The witcher could see another grate at the end of the tunnel that followed. If he were quick enough, he might be able to corner her there.

With his hands he felt for the opening in the grate the doppler had used and then pushed through it with his hands. It was a tight fit, for he was significantly larger than Shani. Still, sheer force helped him. Resurfacing took longer than Geralt had anticipated. In fact, the water seemed higher, here. Geralt kept his eyes on the prize, though. The doppler was at the other grate already, opening it fully and getting to the other side.

Shit, this was not going well.

He made his way over to the gate, but when he tried to open it, it did not give way. Shani was standing on the other side, waving back at him. She held up a screwdriver and smiled sweetly.

“If I were you I’d turn around. It’s time for the daily flush.”

With a frown, Geralt felt around the grate for loose screws, but the doppler had made quick work of getting them in. The creature turned around and clambered up some iron ladder. A curse escaped Geralt and he pulled his hands back in. This was not working. Time to turn back. As he turned around, he realised how little room he had left to breathe. The water was up to his lips and his head was touching the ceiling.  
Daily Flush? What was the daily flush?

Up ahead, Geralt heard yelling and a thundering of water. His eyes went big as saucers as realisation dawned.

_Fuck this fucking sewage system! Fuck._

He moved back to the other grate, but before he was halfway he had to take his last breath of fresh air due to the high water. He rushed for the grate with all he had. He had just passed it, when a wall of water hit his body.

The witcher clanged back against the grate with a thud.

Then all went dark.

* * *

“Shit, Shit, the daily flush! Dandelion, hold onto something!”

“I can’t, Geralt is in there! He’s stuck!”

“Dandelion!”

“They fell in because of me,” the bard yelled, exasperated.

The sound of rushing water was getting louder and Dandelion looked back to see a huge amount of water crash towards them. With a scream he held onto an iron ring that had been attached to the wall. His feet were knocked away from under him. Hanging onto the ring, he came up for breath soon after. Pulling himself up with the ring, he stood again and breathed deeply.

Behind him, Shani had gotten up again too.

The bard had barely registered it, though, for his eyes were on the place where Geralt had disappeared. It had been submerged completely.

Dandelion waded his way over to the edge of the basin and took a deep breath. His jump was not at all elegant, but he’d take any kind of extra speed that it would give him. With quick strokes Dandelion was over at the grate, swimming down to reach it. He forced himself to open his eyes- which was probably unsanitary and unwise, but saw that the tunnel was empty. Worried, he tried to get through the grate like Geralt had, but his feet hit something behind him as he did so. He turned around and spotted Geralt, slowly floating upwards.

Calling out the Witcher’s name made Dandelion lose a huge amount of air. Right. Water.

He forced himself to swim over to the man and pull him up even if there was black around the edges of his sight. When he reached the surface, he pulled Geralt on top of his breast so he could breathe and then started swimming backwards with him. He hauled ass to the only ledge he could see at this water level and climbed up there. With weak arms he pulled Geralt up and started thumping his chest worriedly.

Geralt was not breathing.

He started the rhythm Geralt had taught him, pushing on his chest five times then giving him mouth to mouth five times as well. The first time warranted no reaction.

“Geralt, Geralt, come on- come on! Breathe for me!”

His hands did not stop, but tears were in his eyes. The second time he did it, there was a large cough and a spray of dirty water. Still, no audible breathing or moving chest.

“Damn it all to hell, Geralt, you told me this worked! Breathe, breathe! By the gods!”

The third time, there was another wave of thrown up water and then silence. Nothing. Still, no breathing. The tears were now sliding down Dandelion’s cheeks.

“DAMN IT GERALT, **BREATHE**. **LISTEN TO ME AND BREATHE, YOU STUBBORN WITCHER.** ”

There was a small stirring of the head and then a deep breath was drawn by Geralt’s body. The eyes of the witcher flew open.

Instantly, the man flipped over and emptied the contents of his stomach. More tears made its way down Dandelions face. When Geralt seemed to have heaved up all he could, he looked back. The bard shook his head soundlessly and just threw his arms around Geralt.

* * *

It took a minute before either of them spoke.

“I thought you were gone.”

The Witcher coughed and his voice was squeaky as he answered.

“So did I. I got slammed against the gate with my head,” Geralt said to Dandelion’s hair. His voice echoed through the tunnel system.

With his nose right up against Dandelion’s neck, Geralt smelled the man’s pheromones wrap around him and his breathing calmed. The warmth of the man around him and his gravelly voice made Geralt want to burrow further into the embrace.  
There was a wet slap next to them and Shani sat down gracefully on the side of the ledge. She had made her way over, finally. The Witcher let go of Dandelion and turned in the death grip of the bard to see her.

“My god that was close,” she worried. “Are you okay? I’ve got something against headaches if you want.”

Geralt shook his head.

“I’ve got White Honey and other than that, my quick healing will do its work. Thank you, Shani.”

Reluctantly, the bard let go of Geralt and moved to sit back on his heels. His eyes were a little red. A hand gripped Geralt’s heart and tightened it with guilt.

“Fine by me,” Shani supplied. She reached out a hand to Geralt and Dandelion both to help them get up. She pointed at some iron grips in the wall further ahead. “Anyway, I don’t know about you but if you’ve caught your breath, I want to get out of this place.”

The dean made her way to the iron hooks. Before he headed off, Geralt looked back at Dandelion. His brown hair was in front of his eyes as he inspected his ruined clothes with a tut of disdain. His gaze travelled to Geralt’s clothing and found his eyes soon after.

“I just bought these, too,” he wailed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll wash them. In thanks, for being a good student.”

Dandelion grinned at the prospect of using that as leverage and walked towards the iron hooks. He looked back with a smug look.

“Your technique didn’t work, though, Mr. All-knowing.”

At that, Geralt stopped walking towards the ladder.

“Huh. Who knew,” he replied. Curious, he eyed the basin behind him. “How did you get me to breathe?”

There was no direct reply. Shani yelled for them to get onto the street and distracted them before the man could speak. Both of them looked up at Shani. After a reply from Geralt that he was barely functional and to let them be, Dandelion met Geralt’s eyes. His eyes flitted to the side.

“Calling you a stubborn bastard,” Dandelion said, turning around and gripping the hooks. He did not look back at Geralt while he made his way up. “And doing it two times more.”

With a shrug, the Witcher followed them up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your warm responses! I'd written myself in a bit of a corner and have been contemplating how to get out of it all this time, but now I've finally found a way and I hope the writing faeries will inspire me daily =)  
> Let me know what you think!


	9. In which Dandelion worries about sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Guys, as promised, another chapter!  
> While I edited this, I wondered if you have any tips as to my writing style? I am entering a serious Dutch writing contest and I wondered if you have any feedback that might help me progress (my English and Dutch writing styles are basically the same, so it still works that way)? Please do not butcher me in the comments ;)

# Chapter 9  
  


That evening, Geralt made sure to bathe on his own. In the end, the brown-haired man had agreed that Geralt was now less filthy than before due to the daily flush. Yet only after Geralt had closed the door in his face did he really let go of his case.

Still, the fighter finally got his peace and quiet.

So Geralt had slowly unwinded in the bath from a long day. As he had soaped himself, he’d started mulling over his confrontation with the Doppler and what to improve. With a wince he had figured his swimming skills were high on that list. Other than that, it might be smart to evade sewage systems next time. The culprit would always have the advantage in their lair. Yes, it might be better to have the servants keep watch and stay away from the sewage system for now. The doppler would be on the lookout for him, in any case, so they had to change tactics.

In fact, on the way back the Witcher had already pitched a plan B to Shani and Dandelion. There had been an uncomfortable look on Shani’s face at the implication of it being a vengeful student, but Geralt had urged her to see reason. They had to look into it. He said they were to meet the Chancellor in the morning at breakfast to discuss the plan and afterwards, that Shani was to make them a list of suspects to look into in the library, where the school ledgers were kept.

It was a good plan, Geralt decided.

After his bath, the three of them were to finetune the plan when they met up for dinner.

So they did. Sheer chance would have it, however, that Dandelion had spotted the Chancellor on their way up. After a cheerful ‘Nico!’, Dandelion had seduced the poor man to dine with them. In the end, they had dined in the dining hall. While there, the Chancellor had invited Shani from her confinement to have his curiosity sated as soon as possible. Their table had been secluded, near the huge windows of the hall. The chairs they had sunken into were more luxurious than they had ever seen before. None of them had complained.  
Then, to keep Shani in sight, the Chancellor had opted for an a la carte dinner. At that sign of importance Dandelion had puffed his chest and grinned widely at the Witcher. Geralt had quietly bemoaned the spareribs and steak he was missing out on.

During their conversation, Dandelion had painted a vivid scene of Geralt’s so-called brave adventure. Even the confrontation with the doppler was described, though the Witcher was sure Dandelion had not witnessed any of that. Still, the Chancellor had been wringing his hands throughout the story. Afterwards, he had been silent for some time. Soon after, he had given them free reign to find the malicious doppler that was trying to dispel his Dean. All facilities were to open their doors to them and more servants would be assigned to the case. The dean had thanked the man profusely; Dandelion had wriggled his eyebrows at Geralt.  
The dinner had ended on a high note and an even higher note when Dandelion had sung for them. They had laughed and drank and Dandelion had told them stories until it was nearing twelve and Geralt’s head got heavy.  
When Dandelion had met his gaze around that time, it had been the bard who had announced their retreat.

Far past sundown, the bard and Geralt had walked up to their room. At the entry to the door, Geralt patiently waited for Dandelion to open the door. The door swung open and Dandelion made his signature hospitable move to indicate that Geralt ought to go in first.

Wincing, Geralt went ahead. He ignored the discomfort that ripped through his body.

The room was much the same as it had been before, save for the towels that now hung to dry near the banked fire and the Witcher’s gleaming armor. He had given it an extra rub while waiting for Dandelion to finish his bath. It did smell a bit more of the both of them, though, which Geralt's pheromones did not object to. When he looked back at the bard, he saw Dandelion frowning at the threshold.  
Geralt grunted in an enquiring manner, but Dandelion shook his head and closed the door. He followed the Witcher deeper into the room.

“Man. That was some good food!”

Dandelion stilled next to the bedroll on the couch, yawning, and opened it up. Near the bathroom door, Geralt frowned at the man. He squinted from the bedroll to the bed to the blue eyes of the man.

“You’re not sleeping on the bed?”

The younger man shook his head resolutely.

“Nah, you deserve it after today. You must be exhausted.”

Inwardly, Geralt preened at the praise. Still, it did not feel right to take the bed. Avoiding the matter, Geralt walked into the bathroom and cleaned his teeth with the paste of salt and sage they had at their disposal. After a splash of warm water on his face, Geralt emerged from the room.  
The poet was seated on the bed. He was getting undressed, his nightgown out on the bed. When he spotted the Witcher, Dandelion gestured at the bed. He had put Geralt’s robes on the other side.

“Just had to get my things here, but I’m taking the bedroll.”

The Witcher paused next to the bed, arms at a loss next to him. His mind was forcing him away from the bed, towards the bedroll. The problem was, he could not perceive a logical reason to force Dandelion to do otherwise. Not without showing too much of his nature. Still, everything in him said not to take the offer.

In the end he turned around and simply started undressing. He pulled on his nightgown and glanced back around to see Dandelion staring at his own. The man was fingering a small hole in it where his armpit was, deep in thought. Half-naked.  
The white-haired omega’s muscles refused to work when he realized this.

Upon seeing Dandelion’s head start to turn, though, they suddenly let go of the reigns.

With a burst of energy, the fighter quickly opened his pack and perused the amount of potion he still had left. He refused to look at the bard. Forced his heartbeat to calm down and focus on the task at hand.  
He needed to mix up some blizzard again soon. Tomorrow, if possible. Wondering where to get supplies in town, Geralt beheld the view through the window, if only to ignore the poet a bit longer. Even at night, the sight of the entwining oak trees was enough to take his breath away. He spotted a few birds’ nests in between branches.

Behind him, the poet started humming. The man had moved round on the bed and Geralt now saw that he was not deep in thought; he was actually mending his nightgown. It was inside out. Interested, the white-haired warrior observed it and Dandelion spotted his interest.

“When I used to live at home in Lettenhove, I wouldn’t have to worry about holes in my clothing. I’d just ask my maid to fix it and that was that,” he said. At Geralt’s huff and rolled eyes, he turned the nightgown inside out and held it up against the light of the banked fire. Content, he nodded and looked back at Geralt. “Still, I always valued knowing how to do these things. Coveted being able to, too- and look at me now! I learnt how to because I travelled with you.”

Geralt sat down on the bed against the wall on the other side.

“At Kaer Morhen, we had to take turns at mending. Just like with cooking, cleaning and doing laundry.”

The younger man tied the string. He had to lean over to cut it with his teeth. The bard’s back muscles pulled taut at the action. It was impossible for the Witcher to pry his eyes away, so he indulged. The man tried to memorise the skin he saw in front of him. There - there was the small nick on Dandelion’s skin from where he had been hit when Geralt had fought a kikimora. Back then, the wound had made him consider the poet’s short life span in comparison to his and what that meant for their friendship. How long he would be able to enjoy a shared life with him.  
As the Witcher once more considered how long they might still have, the lyricist turned the nightgown around in his hands. He slid his arms into the sleeves but then lowered them again. His eyes slid back to Geralt’s, who was caught looking.

“You were so responsible at a young age,” he marvelled. “I think I was only trying to find omega girls at that point. Weren’t you? It must have stunk of Alpha pheromones there.”

A chuckle came up at the memories, indeed.

“Well, I was part of the group so I barely noticed it, but our teachers definitely complained. Of course, before long we all had our trials and the natures were balanced out so we didn’t stink up the place anymore.”

 _Most of them_ didn’t. Lambert was a special case - as was Geralt. His own smell was faint but he had learned to mask it from a young age. It was a second nature now, to drink his masking potion after waking.

Dandelion seemed to consider the information that Geralt had given him and then eyed the side of Geralt’s head. His hand came up and he rubbed his Alpha tattoo.

“I still can’t believe it’s possible to get rid of your nature for real. There must be dozens who would like to. Why don’t the Witchers sell the potion?”

“Because only three out of ten survive.”

That made the writer do a double take and he turned to Geralt fully.

“You’re telling me seven other kids died and you managed to live?!”

The Witcher shrugged and Dandelion watched him closely. His eyes swept over Geralt’s body but this time it did not make Geralt hot and bothered. Instead, he felt praised. Appreciated.

“Wow,” he acknowledged. He paused and then continued: “Still, it leaves no traces of your nature at all?”

The warrior frowned. This conversation was steering into difficult terrain.

“No, there are some things that remain. Like,” he wrecked his brain for something innocent. “Like personality traits and of course the marks. They are still there, though they are tattooed over.”

Dandelion leaned over and regarded the tattoo of the Witcher, inclining his head. Unconsciously, Geralt moved his head to the side a bit so the bard could see better.

He cursed himself for baring his neck to an Alpha, after.

“Are there any Witchers that prefer to stick to their nature, after?”

Geralt considered this question. Then answered truthfully.

“Some. Only if it does not interfere with their Path, though. Most relations do interfere, though, so Coën, for example, has a Beta woman he goes back to often but will never marry. The Path comes first.”

The bard pulled on his nightgown and waved his hand in the air.

“Yada, yada, yada – it’s like a religion, this Path of yours. So you’re saying you do not even have sexual preferences anymore? Like an Alpha likes to have control and an Omega prefers to submit?”

Memories slowly surfaced. Training at Kaer Morhen with his brothers, dark rooms in the keep and chains they had been put in. The white, ornate ceiling of the infirmary and the soothing voices of healers. The darkness that had taken him in and the screeching pain inside at times when it had not.  
  
The trials had been difficult, but they had survived it together. They had all had those experiences, remembered training the way he did. Although to be honest, he did not know what they had been through while he had had his Omega training. Still, he preferred to believe he had not been alone. Not alone in how he had been forced to withstand Alpha voices, forced to take control when necessary. They must have had to learn tips and tricks of their own.  
  
Still, as he went over the memories, none of the training he remembered had ever been truly directed at sex. There had been sessions where the pheromone levels were amped up gradually and Geralt had had to resist, but they had been in order to be safe on the field. There had been lessons where Vesemir had made him drop cruelly or he had made him drop only to come up amid a battlefield without any after care. Still, those sessions had been to make sure these things did impact his functioning. They had served a purpose, had been to guard his life. Admittedly, they had not guarded his mental stability, as they had left him feeling horrid for days.

Either way, none of it had been directed at sex.

Unintentionally, though, the sessions had affected it. Naturally. There was only so much extreme Alpha behaviour one could take with repercussions for it to become second nature to find it irritating. Even now, many decades later, Geralt still disliked extreme Alpha dicks in life and in his bed. Besides that, Geralt had learned to appreciate superficial drops that he could jump out of to defend himself over the deep ones where he was lost at sea. Some of his half-year drops with Eskel he even preferred Eskel leave him alone after, to keep up a semblance of training.

So Geralt would be lying if he said the training had not affected his sexual preferences. Still, it would have been possible to keep his initial preferences. Some of the others still had them.

“Most of it is trained out of us. We learn how to control our urges as not everybody in the world is as compliant. There are many different ways to do that, not all pleasant,” Geralt trailed off, going back to waking in the middle of that battlefield. “You can imagine that has an effect, later on… It should be possible to retain some traces of it, though.”

At those words, the corners of the bard’s mouth went down and he breathed out heavily. Shaking his head, he rose from the bed. Geralt was confused at his distraught face. Never before had the Witcher been so honest.

“I should have known not to ask,” Dandelion acquiesced. His hand rubbed his face. “Nothing to do with Witchers is ever easy.”

Geralt frowned and went for the corner of the blanket. He did not know how to reply, so waited a few heartbeats before he found a safe answer.

“You’re not the first to be curious,” he offered as he pulled the sheets over himself.

With a sad look at Geralt’s covered body, the poet turned to his bedroll.

“Probably. I just… After all the suffering of the trials and the training, what you’ve given up for it… I wish that they’d at least let your sex life exist in peace,” he murmured. Then he fell down on the sofa pointedly and curled up under the bedroll. “Night, Geralt.”

It seemed an odd point to end the conversation. It took some time for Geralt to pick his way through their conversation and get back to where they were. Quietly, he answered.

“Night.”

All night, Dandelion’s words haunted him whenever he closed his eyes.

* * *

The next morning had been an early one, but Geralt had not been the first to greet it. Instead, he had been woken by the sounds of Dandelion trying to get him up. Allegedly, the man had already tried to wake him for ten minutes, but nothing had worked. Nothing save for sitting against the pillow next to him and singing something along the lines of “Geralt wake up my dear, or else I will slap your rear”.  
The poet was outraged when Geralt had suggested that he had better not sign up for any songwriting competitions soon.

After breakfast they had made quick work of finding Shani and following her flaming red hair to the library, where they had compiled a list of students that might have been the culprit considering their presence and classes. The end result was a list of twenty names that Shani all truly doubted would wish her such harm. She had agreed that as a teacher, she knew there were heaps of kids who did not like her, but there was a difference between that and the crimes committed against her, now. The Witcher had gently reminded her that there was also a good chance the actual student was being kept somewhere while the Doppler had assumed their identity. The actual Doppler might be angry for completely different reasons.

With the list they had gone to the administration, where the ladies had fawned over the minstrel all afternoon while he had strummed song after song for them as they conjured details about the students. They had left the office with schedules, contact details and background information. All the papers were to be perused.

They had decided to sit in the greenhouse near their quarters to read them. This greenhouse was new and one with a focus on tropical plants, so it was popular due to the heat. Inside, the sweet fragrance of flora had mixed with the smell of fertilizer and together they amplified the whites and oranges of the plants inside. Deep green bled into cheery yellow while Shani had explained which rare plants they were seeing. Many Biology students came here to observe the plants and learn to recognize them by sight, she added.

A specific area filled with white and purple orchids had made Dandelion sigh and compose songs, before he had dropped onto a bench nearby. With a roll of Geralt’s eyes, he had indulged the man. Instead of plopping down on the bench too, though, Geralt had sat down on the wooden chair next to the bard. He had plunked the stack of papers on the table and Shani had divided them for their initial read.

Now they were sat around the wooden table, Shani slowly miming the words to herself and the troubadour making sounds whenever he encountered something interesting. Geralt had only broken the silence to ask a question regarding titles and the course structure of Oxenfurt, but otherwise their work together peaceful.

After a particularly loud chuckle, the warrior glanced over to see Dandelion grinning at the page, following the line he was reading with a finger. The latter was nothing new: Dandelion always did this. Now, though, he seemed completely immersed and promptly held his other hand in front of his mouth, as if he were bound to start laughing soon. Before he could, he lifted his eyes and saw Geralt observing him. The eyes of the bard were full of mischievous sparkles and he smiled at Geralt. White hot flames raced up Geralt’s spine.

His gaze dropped and he turned away.

Then he rose again, ears perked. There were quick, alarmed steps. A heart beat thudded loudly to match the steps and then a man turned the corner. Geralt had his hand on his sword.

“Shani? Dean Shani?”

“Yes?”

The man turned, his ragged breathing all Geralt could hear. He was wearing a black and red livery, the colour of the Oxenfurt Academy staff. In his hands he carried a letter with the woman’s name on it. Bending over to catch his breath, the man held out a hand with the envelope in it.

Curious as to what would warrant such haste, the Witcher lay down his own papers. The lady took the envelope and thanked the man. He departed shortly after, explaining he had left his desk to deliver it. After a round of greetings, Shani opened the letter and read. Geralt continued reading his own paper.

In the background, the water irrigation system dripped languidly.

“Everything okay, Shani?”

The warrior peered at the both of them over the top of his papers. Gone was the woman’s eagerness of before, replaced by pallor. She held a hand to her heart as she regarded the paper. Upon her lack of reaction, the balladeer plucked the paper and envelope out of her hands and read it to Geralt in hushed tones.

“ _If you wish to see Genevieve Dressen again, meet me at Relken Bridge within the hour. No Witchers_.”

The envelope contained a jade necklace. Geralt shut his eyes when he saw it.

“I - I have to go.” Her hands trembled as she reached for the necklace. Her eyes were lined with silver. “It’s Genevieve. I can’t- I mean - It’s Genevieve. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

The poet turned the paper around and checked the envelope thoroughly. But no, that was all. For a second, the irrigation was all they heard. Dandelion shared a look with his good friend and pointed between himself and Shani, then Geralt and the necklace.

“Okay,” the Witcher’s voice was decisive. “You and Dandelion go to Relken Bridge. Get to the bottom of this. I will track Genevieve and free her, then find you after.”

Dandelion clasped his hands around the dean’s.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get her back.”

Yet worry shone in his eyes when he peered back at Geralt.

* * *

Lemon verbena and jasmine. Those scents had been all he had been focused on for hours, until he had found her in a small shed outside the academy walls. Genevieve Dressen. Her scent had been complemented with extremely high levels of fear when he had encountered her, though.  
Not surprising, considering her assailant had been there. The witcher had detected two heartbeats in the shed, which had prompted him to draw his knife.

A quick scan of the shed had told him there was one entry and exit, and that they were far from any prying eyes. The closest connection to real life was Elken Bridge, he surmised. Even that was a mile away at its closest and Genevieve was probably too drugged to run there.  
Either way, it made for a cunning hideout. The river roaring next to the would have drowned out any screams. The warrior had made sure that had worked in his advantage as he had walked up to the place.

When he had slammed into the building, the man present had not held his weapons yet. So Geralt had used the opportunity of a surprise attack. Not even a glance had he spared for Genevieve as he ran in, only noting the air around him.

She was still alive: lemon and jasmin, but no blood in the air.

His surprise attack hit home on the man’s arm. Geralt darted around the hearth and table, sliced upwards with his sword and stabbed down. Already, the man had jumped away, though. Had drawn his twin swords himself and now ran towards Geralt, giving him only a second to make out his enemy.

Mousy brown hair, medium build, tall and with a preference for his right leg. As was to be expected, the latter was the first thing Geralt tried to disbalance when he parried the strike and moved around his enemy. The man had to turn to the left. The Witcher spotted a huge scar on his left arm; the weaker of the two.

Mercilessly, Geralt began his assault on the man, raining down blows on him. He rallied all his strength for the ones on the left side, forcing his enemy to expend his force on defending there. Yet there was no break in his defense. No missing link in the chain mail.  
When Geralt ducked past him and tried to slice his side, the man had even managed to use his elbow to hit the Witcher’s nose. Genevieve screamed in the background.

Blood trickled down the Witcher’s face. Snarling, he wiped it away with his knuckles.

“There, even Witchers can bleed.”

Geralt did not reply.

Behind the man, he could see Genevieve. Her blonde hair was frazzled and her brown eyes horrified. She was bound to the wall with a tight rope and her feet were chained to one another. Her face was ashen, but her body showed no injuries. The moment their gazes met, she opened her mouth to speak, but the man charged and Geralt was distracted.

He feinted and when the mousy figure lunged forwards, he thrust his sword towards his stomach. The man turned his feint into a circle-parry and then lunged at him again, not breaking eye contact with Geralt’s sword. Good – no, excellent.

The man was an _excellent_ swordfighter.

The man attacked with a forward slicing cut and Geralt parried, going for the man’s left arm in quick succession. There- There! He’d drawn blood.  
Barely a scratch, though. Still, the man bled like any other.

“You can bleed, too.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, it will only be this once.”

The room went darker at that, its smell held more depth to it.

“We’ll see about that.”

Past his sword, Geralt stared at Genevieve. Her hands had begun moving together behind her and the rope was moving. She blinked and nodded at him. Time- they needed time.

“I think you won’t be very enthusiastic to make me bleed again, soon.”

The Witcher raised an eyebrow. The man was slowly changing. Mousy brown hair into brown curls, brown eyes into familiar cornflower blue. The Doppler.

Geralt lunged, hoping the man would be at its weakest during the change. Yet the man held his stance and even managed a counter cut while swiping for Geralt with his fist. The witcher danced backwards, light on his feet. The swipe had been done with the left arm, which was trembling a bit by now from the effort it had put into defending, earlier.

His attacks focused on that as Geralt attacked again, trying to ignore the form of the bard that had emerged in front of him. He peppered the man with blows on his left side, parrying his two swords easily. The man did not seem tired at all, Geralt noted. Not a drip of sweat on Dandelion’s body.  
  
Well-trained, too. Good. Geralt was in for a fight.

They went head to head.

It was difficult to know how much time passed in the shed. Geralt only knew that Genevieve seemed to have found a way to cut through the rope if she got more time, and that his assailant’s left arm was visibly trembling by the time they came apart again. By then, Geralt had earned himself a few big bruises under his armor. The Doppler had an extra slice down his left leg, making him favour the right even more.

“You’re not bad,” the warrior admitted with a grunt.

The man wearing the face of Dandelion sneered. His blue eyes were cold. They made Geralt’s eyes become hard like steel.

“No use complimenting me when you’re going to die before long, Witcher.”

It made Geralt pause. He had never even contemplated hearing Dandelion say something like that. The eeriness made his whole soul shiver.

He contemplated the man.

“Why? Why do this? Why impersonate the Dean?”

“Why? Because I wanted to, that’s why.”

Clearly, he had been hired to do this. After all, he was here taking care of Genevieve. So if this was the brawl of the operation, what was the reasoning of the brain?”

“No, why did they want to use you to get to the Dean?”

A frown on Dandelion’s face, but no puckered lip. Strange, so strange, to see his friend’s body in front of him but to see all normal behaviour gone. The things he had gotten used to, suddenly different. Odd, to see Dandelion holding twin swords and having mastered it.

“You think distracting me will get you out alive?”

Not at all. In fact, Geralt was pretty sure he was about three blows from winning.

He lunged forward and went for a horizontal cut, trying to slice open Dandelion’s belly. With a clang, their swords met.  
The left sword flew onto the floor in Genevieve’s direction.

Before the white-haired fighter could finish his move, though, the door next to the man opened. A smell of cinnamon entered the premises.

When the witcher zeroed in on the entrance, there were two bards on that side of the room. Behind them, Shani had ran towards Genevieve with a knife. Geralt faced the two versions of the pretty minstrel. One unarmed.

Both fighters realized this precisely at the same time. The doppler looked around and realized he was outnumbered when Shani was done and turned around with her knife.

A pause. Then, a truly evil grin in the Witcher’s direction.

Before Geralt could warn him, the Doppler turned and lunged for the bard, slicing diagonally. The bard held up hands and a knee with a shout. Dandelion cursed loudly as the Doppler hit home and lost his balance.

The doppler did not stop.

The white-haired man shouted a warning and dashed when he realized what would happen, but only grasped air as Dandelion was thrown into the embers of the hearth.

When he looked up, the doppler had disappeared into the night.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. I know it's a slow burn, I'm sorry. But with Geralt like this it can't really be a 4 chapter kind of deal, can it? HOPE YOU LIKE!


	10. In which Geralt finally acts like a good Omega boy

# Chapter 10

The screams had been harrowing. Dandelion’s pain had sliced through the night, right through Geralt’s immortal existence. Every coal they had had to pull off the bard’s body had been another punch to his gut. Every whimper an addition to the whirlwind in his head and the ash in his mouth.

The sounds still haunted the Witcher, even hours after.

Dandelion had lived, of course. After a speedy entry of the local authorities, there had been a few stitches and dressed burns. Doctors Geralt did not remember the names of prescribed pills and treatment applied by Shani, the Beta. They came in and left in a whirl of white coats.  
What Geralt remembered of their words was one thing: nothing permanent.

Except for the sorrow that had borrowed deep into Geralt’s soul, of course. Except for the realization that Dandelion was, for all his boasting, still human and frail.

That realization had kept him awake at night. At times when he woke up sweaty, haunted by the phantom screams, he would lie awake for another hour contemplating how he could have protected the brunette better. At those moments, the sight of Dandelion on the bed, swathed in bandages and oftentimes groaning, made him flinch.  
It meant that as a Witcher, he had failed. Not only as a Witcher, but as an Omega too. He had failed to protect the Alpha.

An odd thing to say, maybe, but in Geralt and Dandelion’s relationship, it had always been the warrior doing the physical protecting. A warped situation, but since that structure worked, the older man had seen it as part of his job. And now he had failed it - not to mention gotten the Alpha wounded.

Those blows to his soul had put Geralt on edge as they waited for Dandelion to wake the next day. So on edge in fact that he had barely spoken to Shani. Still, she had persisted and described their side of the story. The encounter with Kayleigh, an old student of hers.

He had listened to be distracted while he cleaned his breastplate.

This lad, Kayleigh, had apparently not passed the year due to her grading and had returned home a disgraced man. His family had refused him his title due to his lack of education. Since mortals valued money, the man had chosen to blackmail Shani into signing off on his degree using various methods –considering this the best option. He had called the police and upon seeing them, he had told Shani the doppler was in the shed with Genevieve, so she would be a murderer if she did not help Kayleigh. Shani had signed the document immediately when she heard about her assistant. Geralt expected nothing less. The dame had been nothing but cautious of her environment, positive to others and an overall morally sound individual.

The part Geralt had not expected, though, had been the part where Dandelion had been so irate at the man that he had swung his lute at him. In a stroke of pure luck, Shani had acquiesced, Dandelion had hit the young rebel on the back of his head. He had crumpled to the ground immediately. It had been the quickest encounter possible and the man refrained from waking up. Naturally, he had been left for dead while they had gone for Geralt and Genevieve.

“Hm,” was all Geralt could manage in answer.

His eyes were on the pitcher next to Dandelion’s head. Milky white and green were its colours and there were cracks all along the sides. The person who had glued it together had not been thorough, considering the blobs of glue along the cracks. Idly, he wondered whether it stood too far away for the man if he were to awaken.

“Yup. So, the constable found him afterwards and they imprisoned him at nightfall. Nicodemus is trying to get the doctorate unrecognised by the board as we speak. He was a real dear about it,” Shani praised, leaning forward. The couch they were seated on had been turned around by Geralt the night before. “I have been wondering if he’d like to spend more time together. What do you reckon?”

Absentmindedly, Geralt moved his eyes from Dandelion to Shani. Her gown today was blood orange and she would not meet his eyes after her words. Her cheeks had reddened. She was looking for confirmation, Geralt surmised.

“You should try,” was all Geralt said, not at all caring if she would or not.

A nod and a deeper blush. Then, a chastising swat to his leg.

“Is that all you have to say about everything? No new insights?”

His eyes were on the bard again. His breathing was less deep than before. There - he’d moved his hand incrementally.

“Dandelion almost fucking died,” he deadpanned. A flinch at his tone. “… Of course I have turned the situation over in my head a hundred times. I just do not see how talking about it can help what has happened. Besides, I do not care what happens to some idiot ex-student. Though,” he admitted with a small smile. “I am happy you are safe and redeemed.”

Next to him, Shani shrugged.

“I guess that makes sense,” she relented.

They watched the only person in the room who had not been so fortuitous and Shani dragged a hand over her face, sighing.

He did not turn from his vigil. The four-poster bed in front of him was a sight to behold – by now he could paint it blindly. A work of art, truly. What had begun as a huge oak had been kept intact as much as the carpenter had been able to. It’s base was the trunk of the huge tree, polished and sanded to the comfort of the user. Carved out on its headboard was a beautiful pattern of flowers and growing saplings. Out of it, two posts curved upwards into the air, to reconnect with the two from the bottom. The curtains that hung to the side of it were a crisp white. They contrasted the deep forest green silken sheets Dandelion was lying under, now. The bedsheets beneath him were wrinkled due to his painful tossing and turning.

When the bard moaned in pain, Geralt grit his teeth again.

In the background, the birds in the entwined tree were chittering softly. Disconcerting how the world continued turning even in the gravest of times. It had often struck Geralt as odd, and odder still that time always seemed to slow down for it. As if the world was set on making it the most excruciating thing it could be.

Dandelion’s breathing drew him from his musings. It speeded up and his heart rate did, too. Moving the couch next to the bed, the white-haired man watched the bard’s face expectantly. Brown hair flopped sideways with Dandelion’s head as it turned to Geralt. Next to him, the couch cushions shifted as Shani’s weight was removed from them.

The bard’s hands became fists and there was a groan. Then, his eyes opened. Unlimited depths of blue stared at Geralt.

With a wince, the bard closed his eyes again. Then opened one, squinting. Then another. His eyes found Geralt’s again and he managed a small smile. Instantly, Geralt’s snappy mood had been lifted.

He put his breastplate on the floor next to him.

Dandelion’s arms came up to stretch only to stop halfway as he did the same with his legs. He yelped in pain, turned to his blanket and held it up. The Witcher could only see green sheets as the poet regarded the twenty stitches. Maybe even saw the burns. The blanket slowly lowered as Dandelion turned to Geralt drily.

“Well. I don’t think I’ve woken to worse things than this.”

Geralt considered the words, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. Next to him, Shani chuckled out loud. The bard then did, too.

“…and welcome back to you, too,” Shani replied.

Geralt wanted to answer too, but the bard’s eyes suddenly dimmed. Then closed with a loud groan.

“Fuck. My lute!”

When he opened his eyes again, Geralt pointed at the corner, where the remnants of his magical lute lay. Four separate pieces and some strings. They had snapped in the middle. One curled up all the way to the top part of the lute.

“We got all the pieces back – I know an elf who could fix it. For the right price,” Shani offered.

Dandelion turned to her voice and smiled at her. Patted her hand.

“You mean for a small fortune that I do not have,” he corrected. “Gods, I cannot believe I killed a man with it, I am so thick sometimes.”

The comment took a second to sink in.

“Knocked prone,” Geralt corrected, stretching out his arms over his knees.

“What?”

“He was out. Not dead.”

“For god’s sake, Geralt, how does that help?! Not only have I broken my lute while killing a man, no, I have broken my lute while failing to kill a man!”

The loud laughter of Shani next to them was mirrored by the spirit dancing around in those blue eyes. Dandelion started laughing too. After a while, Geralt held his hands in front of his face while shaking his head, too. The Witcher chuckled, then joined their roaring laughter. It was the only sound in the room for quite a while.  
Then the sound stopped. Surrounded by the intimacy of their shared fun, they started conversing about their joint adventure. Discussed potential future problems and made sure the I’s were dotted and the T’s crossed regarding Shani’s reinstatement at Oxenfurt. They joked about their enemies, told each other details they had noticed and in the end, concluded that their plan had been a success.

Geralt’s shoulders had released their tension by the time Shani stood up with a pat on Dandelion’s leg.

“Well, seeing as you’ve got your wits back, I think it is time I leave you be. I will see you tomorrow, anyway.”

With a yawn, the bard agreed. Geralt observed her as she went to the door, grabbed her coat and bag and waved at them. Her red bag did not match her clothing but that matched her personality all the more.

When Shani had left, the Witcher turned back around, hand still in the air from waving. Dandelion had instantly raised the silk sheets again.

Geralt regarded the bard as he categorised his wounds. Although the man had been heavily wounded, his blue eyes were sparkling the same as before. They looked over at his yellow eyes above the sheets, silently thanking the man for helping.

Valuable time had been lost by doing that. The Witcher might have gone after the doppler in that time. Yet if he had, the bard might not have been alive now. The white-haired man would have had to live without the rumble of the poet’s laugh and the incessant babbling. Might have not heard his own ballads sung to him in that beautiful voice. Or sneered at him in times of irritation.

The thought alone was terrifying. Besides, it hurt the Omega in him to think about it.

The confused man pressed his hands against his face to push the fear away.

“Geralt?”

The Witcher was silent.

He could not look up. It was impossible. He could not show the man the silver lining his eyes or the shame written on his face. So, he kept his face pressed into his forearms as he spoke.

“I’m sorry. I…. should have saved you. Y-You are lucky to be alive, still.”

A frown framed the bard’s face. His eyes roved over the form of the Witcher as he sat there. Then his mouth formed an O, before the corners of his mouth turned down. His face pinched together as he grabbed Geralt’s arm and pulled it towards the bed. His fingers slid down the arm, found the hand and squeezed it. The hand was trembling.

“It’s okay, Geralt. You couldn’t have done anything.”

“I could. I could,” he insisted hotly from behind the other hand. “I have gone over it again and again. I should have reacted and moved next to the fire in preparation, or I should have gotten you behind me as soon as I saw it was you.” He punctuated his next words by making his hand into a fist and pushing it into the mattress underneath the bard’s hand. “I failed you.”

Dandelion’s head turned sideways as he regarded the Witcher. The man was shaking and spiralling deeper into his own head.

“No, Geralt,” he persisted. His thumb drew circles over the hand. “Never. You have never done so and you have not done so, now.”

White hair shook from left to right as Geralt disagreed.

“Besides,” Dandelion answered. “I should have never let you go there alone. We should have realized that was where the trap was. Honest, Geralt, I have never felt as helpless as I did when I heard the man tell us that you were in there with the doppler. That we were safe out there. I wanted to run to the shed immediately and help, but we were tied up with the student. The Alpha in me went berserk at not helping you.”

Geralt shook his head. His hand tried to pull away, but Dandelion would not let him.

“You never run into combat, that’s normal to me. What is not normal, though, is there being victims, and that is something that went horribly wrong yesterday. I … apologize.”

The teeth of Dandelion were bright white when he bared them at the Witcher. His warm hand squeezed a callused one.

“Geralt of Rivia, I refuse to let you feel guilty for something you did not do. It is not your fault,” he said pointedly. His voice was deepened by agitation. “Did you know I was going to come in?”

“No, but-“

Nails scraped his hand and silenced him.

“Did you push me into the coals?”

“No, but-”

His voice hardened.

“And did you or did you not save me instead of pursuing the enemy?”

“I did, but-“

“Then you have nothing to apologize for. You could not help it,” Dandelion interrupted, his voice bordering on the edge between alpha and forceful. When the Witcher opened his mouth, Dandelion squeezed his hand and peered at him with a strict face. As the Witcher threw out his other hand to start his words that way, Dandelion’s eyes captured his. His look became even darker and Geralt’s words were stuck in his throat. Only when he stayed silent, did Dandelion nod sternly. “Good.”

That made Geralt’s shoulders sag down. For what seemed like an eternity, the Witcher tried to mentally fight his reasoning, but the stern look of the bard silenced his thoughts. Dandelion’s smile was bright as day when he finally gave up and looked down.

Having won this round, the bard stretched his right leg. With a grunt, he pulled his hand back to yank his blanket up to look at it.

“So. Stitches, huh?”

It took a while for Geralt to get out of his head.

“No dancing for some time, I’m afraid,” Geralt deadpanned finally.

With a sigh, Dandelion tried to throw the blanket over himself again. Three times he tried to throw it back down, and once he even managed to pull it up higher instead of bringing it down. The Witcher stood and pulled the blanket down, pushing it between the folds of the bed like Dandelion liked.

“I’ve never had them before but I already know it will not be my favourite injury. Nor will the burns.”

The left side of his torso and his back were covered with them. When the doctors had first been able to really gauge the damage, they had sucked in their breaths, Geralt remembered. They had mentioned Dandelion was fortunate to have been pulled out in time.

“How many degrees?”

“Second degree. Some of the larger ones will prove difficult to heal, the doctors said.”

Dandelion peered under his shirt. Patches soaked in salves had been applied to the burns and then he had been completely bandaged. The only thing he would be able to see were white strips of linen.

“I barely feel them. Salve?”

“Numbing cream and some treatment salve that Shani is to administer on the burns daily.”

Well-kept brows pinched together.

“Shani?”

A shrug.

“You had to be treated. She was the Beta. They assumed.”

The words burned him as he forced them out.

So, yellow eyes gazed at green sheets. Even when Dandelion moved his head to catch his eyes, they did not move. The bard’s own blues softened at the sight. In the end, he answered:

“Fine.”

They both nodded in agreement.

The brown-haired man held his breath as he eased his way down onto his back. The moment he was down completely, he let it go in a whoosh.

The breast plate Geralt had been cleaning was picked up again. His oiled rag went up and down the breastplate. With a slow turn of his head, the bard stared at the action. Both were lost in the methodical movement for some time.  
Then Dandelion groaned as he turned to him fully.

“Well, I don’t know how you can do it,” he said, gesturing at the armor and sword in the corner. “I already hate being injured like this enough to vow never to get injured again.”

The Witcher chuckled and met his eyes.

“I got used to it, I guess,” he shared. “It’s part of my youth.”

Just like he would have to get used to Shani treating the bard daily. Besides the idea of her touching him so intimately.

“At that age I used to get literacy beaten into me with a cane, but I still winced every time it happened,” Dandelion countered.

“Maybe it is a mindset… You went to school, then?”

A grimace and a nod.

“My father wasn’t well when I was younger and my mum had to pick up the slack for him. She didn’t have much time to raise me so when I’d gone through four home tutors, they sent me to temple school. I turned out to be a prodigy at anything creative. What was your favourite subject?”

The Witcher’s head tilted to the side as he looked outside.

“We mostly had workshops. Still… I think potions and hunting. The latter because it was rewarding, the former because it required precision and focus.”

Dandelion hummed.

“That’s what I like about composing. If it is to become a success, the wording has to be just right, the melody has to fit… It’s satisfying when done right.”

Their eyes met as they nodded in agreement. The bard picked up a book from his bedside table and held it in his hand.

Normally, Geralt would have left it at that. Since the other spoke all the time, he did not mind some quiet every now and then. The story of the blue-eyed man would not leave his head, though. Days on end he had spent with the bard, but this was the most he’d gotten out of him regarding his family.

“How is your father now?”

Dandelion looked up, mouth open. He frowned as his eyes went from left to right and back again.

“He… passed. Left my mother and me alone. She had to remarry my uncle to be able to stay at the estate. It was an ill-suited marriage, both of them being Alphas. Because of that I didn’t appreciate my uncle and was not easily dissuaded, even though my mother tried. So I parted from them some time ago. I usually visit them in winter, when you’re at Kaer Morhen.”

“Does she love him?”

“I do not know. He definitely loves her, though. It is still an odd sensation to see the brother of my father dote on her.”

The white-haired man nodded, rubbed the rust solvent into his armor and stared at it for some time. When he looked up, blue eyes snapped to his instantly.

“I barely remember my actual family, but I imagine it _is_ odd to grow up in such an environment. My Witcher family only consists of members my own age… ”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I had friends. Mostly children of servants. It’s merely that the situation and life didn’t suit me, so I became a version of it that I could accept and like,” he answered, gesturing at himself and the lute in the corner. “Much like I did with my being an alpha.”

Geralt stopped cleaning.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you well know I’m not the prototype Alpha. I do not … run into the fray, if you will, nor do I boast about my conquests and I do not use my Alpha voice whenever it suits me,” he obliged. He gestured to Geralt. “Much like you, those things were trained out of me because I saw how my mother used to be to my father and then how my uncle and mother treated one another, after. I decided I wanted to be like the Alpha she was when she was in love.”

“I did not know humans had a choice?”

“Every creature can always choose how they behave. I think it is just a matter of bird-brain in most cases we encounter.”

Slowly, Geralt nodded. The behaviour of the bard finally made sense to him. Female Alphas could be much more compliant in some cases, and apparently Dandelion preferred to be more like them. To protect instead of initiate fights, to love instead of to lust. Although- if the latter was the case, Dandelion had a poor track record of showing it.

While thinking it through, Geralt walked to the cupboard to get a cup of water and got Dandelion one too. He passed it to the man as he sat down.

“Maybe,” he answered silently. Then he said, “I prefer the kind of Alpha you are, too.”

It had slipped out before Geralt had been able to censor it or make it more ambiguous. To explain the difference between prefer and love and to explain all Witchers were alphas and- to lie. Before he had been able to lie. Yet he felt a bit done with all the lying.  
Especially when Dandelion’s eyes lit up and his smile brightened the whole room.

“Thank you,” he agreed.

In what seemed like a small eternity, Geralt fumbled around and babbled on about cleaning the rest of his uniform as he stood and all but ran away from the bed.  
  


* * *

* * *

A week had come and gone. The winds now hounded the foliage and chased leaves around. Orange, brown and beige grew more pronounced outside the window. Mizzle and sleet had disrupted the strings of students that filed past. Still, the semester at the Academy had gone on and Shani had continued her teaching. If only to have a semblance of normalcy in her life by now, she had claimed.

Both the bard and the yellow-eyed Witcher had encouraged her to do so. She seemed to miss it, in any case. Geralt, for one, could not see why one would love such a profession so much. Though he liked the students, their behaviour baffled him. On one occasion that week, a student had climbed the tree in front of their window and suddenly peered in at them. Geralt had assured that that did not happen again.

Still, Geralt would rather divide his time between friends, his horse and killing monsters than teach. Seeing as he could not do the latter, though, he had decided to divide his time equally between the bard and his horse. In fact, he had taken her out daily this past week. Preferably around the time Shani came to treat Dandelion. He had found out pretty early on that watching her do so made him itchy and moody.

The stableboy had learned not to approach him pretty quickly.

Roach, however, did not mind. In fact, she was ecstatic about it all and ran faster for him than ever before. When they had returned that afternoon, Geralt had given her double the amount of food considering what she must have burnt off. The stable boy promised to treat her well in the morning, too.

Upon reaching their chambers, the Witcher had greeted Dandelion. He’d been immersed in a book and barely greeted him, save for a pair of eyes that met his over the edge of it. When their eyes met, Geralt continued on to the bathroom door, but he felt the bard’s eyes on his back as he walked in. Quickly, he rinsed a washcloth and cleaned up. Dandelion smelled the air when he walked back in again. He grinned and smelled the air again, this time more noisily.

“You always smell so much better after a wash. How was she?”

“Great. She misses you and wonders when she can get on the road again.”

The bard harrumphed and pulled a long face.

“Well, if she has some magic healing up her sleeve, today.”

The Witcher grinned.

“None of that, I’m afraid.”

“Then until this blasted leg heals and until these burns have gone.”

With a thud, Dandelion closed his book and slowly raised himself. A sympathetic shake of Geralt’s head accompanied his rooting around in his bag for dried fruits. Where he once had a bulging bag of them, he now had to reach in and scrape around the insides. When he struck gold, he pulled his hand out and was holding the last two pieces of apple they privately owned. Triumphantly, he turned to Dandelion with his loot.

“Appl-,” he started, then stopped.

On the bed, Dandelion had sat up.

His shirt lay next to him, wrinkled. A heap of bandages lay in his lap in front of him with the tub of salve balancing precariously on top of them. Behind those, Dandelion was stretching his arm over his bare torso as he reached around to apply ointment to his burns.

The Witcher swallowed.

His eyes traced the muscles of the Alpha for the first time in quite a while, finally comfortable enough to do so without any prying eyes. He watched pectorals contract and loosen, dark nipples pebbling to the cold and a trail of dark hair. At a loss, he paused, the apples in his hands long forgotten.

In fact, he almost dropped them when Dandelion looked up from beneath those brown curls.

“What?”

Geralt gulped. With a blank face he held up the apples and motioned to the bard. The man smiled and reached out his other hand to the apple. With precise, quick movements Geralt crossed the room. He bit down on his apple as Dandelion did the same. A drop of juice dripped down his chin and fell onto his torso.

Covertly, Geralt tried to follow its path down the bard’s body. That is, until the body moved again. The younger man had put the apple to the side and opened the tub of ointment, turning his body sideways so he could see his burns. While he attempted to reach one of the burns on his back and failed, longing flared in the Witcher. Not the regular kind, the lust- no, a longing to take care of someone. His mind roared as he saw the Alpha in front of him struggle when he could so easily, willingly, put his own hands to work.

Unwittingly, his own hand had reached out to the tub. When the bard reached for more ointment, he saw it and he looked up at the older man.

“It’s a specific burn ointment; they made it here. There’s some willow extract in it, I think,” he stated and held up the tub to Geralt. “If you want to observe it, you can.”

Geralt swallowed instead. Typical that the man thought it was just his professional interest that had been piqued.

“Why isn’t Shani helping you today,” he questioned instead.

“She has a field trip. I told her I’d be fine.”

Gesturing at the back of the man, Geralt answered:

“You’re clearly not. You can’t reach the middle.”

“It’s fine, it barely stings anymore. Here, you can take a look at the salve.”

The Witcher shook his head and held out his hand for the tub. He pulled a stool to the bed and sat down on top of it.

“Let me do it.”

Still crunched sideways, Dandelion stilled. He slowly unfolded himself and peered up. Geralt’s eyes met his. There was a slight tension between them, then, that could have been cut with a knife. Dandelion observed him silently, then looked at the hands of the man in front of him and shrugged. His hand held out the tub to Geralt.

“Okay,” his voice answered. Electricity ran through Geralt at the deep sound of it. “You want me on my side?”

Not trusting his voice, the Witcher grunted. Mutely, Dandelion lay down sideways on the bed with his back to Geralt. His hands were on the bed next to him, resting casually. He snuggled into the bed more before reaching down to drape the blanket just right. When he deemed it appropriate, Dandelion told him he was ready.

Yellow eyes roamed the expanse of the back and the burns that were there. It still hurt to see them, but Dandelion had now conditioned him to accept it had not been his fault. That somehow made it easier, he concluded. What was difficult, was to see the green sheets that Dandelion obviously hoped were hiding things, but definitely were not. There was a slight incline in his back and two dimples, right above the swell of his behind. It was only a bit of skin, and yet it made Geralt’s mouth dry.

“Most of the ones near my chest I’ve done, if you could do the lower bit and my back,” Dandelion suggested.

The Witcher took it as a sign to get started. His body leaned closer to the body of the bard. He rubbed his hands together to warm them and scooped out some of the ointment. It was pretty thick, he surmised as he moved it to the area of skin in front of him. His hand touched the bard’s back and he slowly, carefully, put the ointment on the blisters that were still prominent, first. The poet hissed at first, but cooed to continue when Geralt immediately stopped. He was happy to carry on, though, for the feeling of his hands on Dandelion was soothing aches he did not know he had had. His muscles relaxed again, finally able to let go of all that pent up irritation at someone else treating the man. When he had finished with the blisters, he went for the skin that was still a screaming red.

“Make sure to rub it in between burns too, like Shani, Geralt.”

The Witcher bristled at the mention of another but did as he was asked. In front of him, Dandelion breathed in deeply and hummed.  
Beneath his hands, the body of the bard stretched languidly while he rubbed the less irritated zones on the back. Slowly, he made his way to the lower part of Dandelion’s side, including his hip. With long strokes, he treated the two burns near his ribcage. As he did so, he picked up the accelerating heartrate of the brown-haired man. His own was jackhammering. The bard’s breath was irregular. His arms were crossed in front of him now, both hands holding his elbows.

The last burn was on the lower side of his torso, ending on the hip. Diligently, the Witcher lowered the sheets a bit there. The bard breathed in deeply.  
With two fingers, Geralt rubbed ointment from the inside to the outside with smaller circles. The skin was barely red anymore. Still Geralt knew it had been a burn too, so he was careful. His touches were featherlight. As he brushed against the burn, he looked over at Dandelion. His eyes were closed.

Geralt breathed in deeply, smelling the cinnamon undertones of Dandelion in the air. His pheromone levels were high and they doused Geralt with a need to do what the man wanted.

A mist of Omega-need seemed to coat his thoughts, his very essence, and he let himself breathe in the pheromones again. He felt the onset of his descent into more, but he could not help it.

More- he needed more.

His hand continued.

It slid past the burn leisurely, exploring the expanse of skin of the bard’s hip that was unmarred. He pressed his legs together while he did so, marvelling at the soft parts of the bard under his hands. Moving at his convenience, he caressed Dandelion at times and then dragged his finger pads down in a stroke. His hand slid down an inch to his abdomen, drunk on the feeling, while Dandelion’s hands tightened on his elbows. As if he was desperately holding back.  
  
Geralt’s fingers made deliberate circles.

His nails softly scraped across the stomach, then he turned back to massage the skin along the lines he made. He repeated the action and Dandelion made a minute sound that only Witcher hearing could have caught. The Witcher marvelled at the feeling racing through him, the ability to care for someone the way he had been craving for so long.

When the bard breathed out in a forcibly controlled manner, the Witcher’s manhood pulsed at the restraint the Alpha seemed to be exercising.

The thought that the man wanted to do something to him but refrained, made him bite his lip.

His eyes raked over the bard’s torso until he looked at a face, blue eyes hooded. Those plump lips were red, as if they had been worried one time too many. Their gazes locked and it struck the Witcher in his core.

“You’re good at this,” Dandelion murmured, voice like gravel.

The words fueled him on and he could smell that Dandelion approved, but – but something. Geralt paused, stiffening. His eyes went wide, nostrils big too. The haze that had come over him, retreated in a quick manner.

Fuck.

 _Fuck, what had he done_?

His gaze snapped to Dandelion, who frowned. Slowly, the Witcher pulled back his hand. He finished with a slow stroke of ointment upwards. When his hand left the bard’s body, Dandelion came up and looked inquiringly at Geralt.

He frowned, reaching out for the man.

“I mean, you’re just good with wounds in general. And good at taking care of people.”

The older man did not respond at all. His eyes were on the bed, unfocused as he struggled with himself.

The Alpha in front of him frowned. Breathed in deeply and shook his head, confused.

“Hello? Geralt? Fuck- I’ve never -” within seconds, he retrieved the bandages and reapplied them before pulling on his nightshirt as he spoke. Then, he pulled the man’s chin up and forced him to lock eyes with him. “Geralt? Don’t do this to me, there’s nothing for you to spiral about. Are you okay? I’m fine. Nothing wrong, I’m all good, that was nice for me. It felt wonderful. Are you good?”

Sluggishly the Witcher blinked. Dandelion closed the distance between them and put his hand on the man’s cheek. Even caressed it.

“Geralt, I’m fine. Look at me. You did amazing,” he said softly, coaxingly. He put his other hand on the Witcher’s hand and squeezed it. Another blink. The air positively smelled of approval. “I cannot thank you enough, really. You’re good at dealing with me, Geralt. More than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Breath by breath, warmth came back into his body.

“And as far as I know, I’m a lot to handle. Yet you have been able to stomach me all this time, all these years. You have phenomenal patience, my friend.”

Geralt frowned and shook his head, like he was coming out of a daze. He peered up at Dandelion from under his white hair. The man was still holding his cheek. Shocked, he jerked his head back.

Immediately, Dandelion let go of him.

“Sorry, sorry. You seemed… out of it. Are you okay now?”

Looking around, the Witcher slowly nodded. It felt like it had when Vesemir had thrown a bucket of water over him. When he’d been down and under.

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Both of them turned to it simultaneously, but neither called out. Initially, the bard waved at the door to ignore it and went for Geralt’s hand again. The latter felt sensitive, though, and he winced at the movement. The hand Dandelion had used, dropped to the sheets. He pinched the bridge of his nose instead.

There was another knock.

Eager for a distraction, Geralt called to come in.

The door opened at a snail’s pace and a foot was the first thing they saw. It was dressed in a fine beige, leather shoe and had a golden clasp on it. Above were the blue pants the servants wore and then- no face but an enormous pile of leather volumes. At least fifteen had been stacked on top of one another and tried to get through the gap. Before the stack could get through, the door was thrown open and another servant appeared. Pearls of sweat dripped off his temples as he held a box. More boxes stood behind them, stacked neatly.

“Delivery for Mr. Dandelion? The Dean was happy to oblige,” the man called out.

Sitting up in order to feign some modesty, the poet waved the men in. Geralt eyed them, bewildered.

“Please, come on in! Could you put the books on the shelves above the desk please? And the boxes on the desk?”

The servants did not respond, merely went for the desk and put said things in their place. When they went back for the other two boxes, another three servants came up with new sets of books and a basket. Without being told what to do, the servants sorted the books on the shelves above the desk. The male servant with the basket, pulled out a string and attached it to the shelf, before pulling it out of the basket fully, showing the bundles of herbs that had been attached and were obviously drying.

As the servants continued to bustle around, a mortar and pestle were placed on the desk, as well as glass pots filled with oil and jars with more dried herbs. The bard thanked the servants profusely when they were done. When they bowed, Dandelion interrupted them and told them not to, as he had not owned such a privilege at all.

The servants left, but Geralt barely glanced at them. He had risen from the bed.

One foot in front of the other, he moved closer. His fingers slid over the backs of the books. _Antidotius Magnus, Dialogues on the Nature of Magic, Healing and Curing, Natural Magic_ … all titles he knew. Titles he might have mentioned he still needed to peruse during their conversations about literature. On the desk were dried Celandine, Conynhaela, Hemlock, Knitbone, Mandrake … all of them were herbs he had at one time or another cursed for their lack of presence in most apothecaries.

At a loss, Geralt turned back around. He stared at the bard.

“What? You’ve been going crazy inside. I asked Shani to send over some material for you to work on your potions. It was your favourite subject, I recall.”

“And she knew exactly what I would want to read and need?”

The bard shrugged.

“I know I’m proficient at talking, but I listen at times, too.”

The warrior cocked his head to the side at the words. Could not stop a small smile and a shake of his head before he turned back around. His mind started comparing this inventory with what he had still needed, and what this would mean for his potions.

On the other side of the room, Dandelion scraped his throat as he capped the jar of ointment.

“Besides, you deserve a reward for catching the Doppler, Geralt. You did great. I figured, rather than a ballad, to give you something practical this time.”

The emotion in his words made the Witcher stop reaching for a leather volume and look back. There was a proud, big smile on the brown-haired man’s face. Geralt quickly turned back to the books. His heart was beating in an irregular rhythm and he thanked the stars that Dandelion did not have enhanced hearing.

“Thank you,” Geralt all but whispered. He was confused about his own actions earlier and this event and what it all meant in general, but he was sure that some gratitude was in order. For his understanding earlier and for his restlessness. “For all of it.”

“Not at all.” The bard smiled proudly at him. “I should be thanking you.”

He then turned back to reading the book he had been immersed in before. It was only when Geralt had gotten his own saddle bags and potions out, that he realized Dandelion had chastised the servants about bowing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, it's a long chapter. It was supposed to be two chapters but because you guys are also suffering because of Corona I thought I'd treat us all. A bit of a subdrop in there suddenly, but Geralt is so new at this caring thing that he's by default going to do things wrong.  
> Don't worry, Dandelion's got him. In a very subtle way, he's working his magic. ;)
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Find me at Tumblr! http://aseriesoffunfortunateevents.tumblr.com !


	11. In which Dandelion gets to talk

#  Chapter 11

_Dandelion_

In all his years as a practicing Alpha, Dandelion had never seen a submissive make themselves come up from a drop the way Geralt had done the night before. He had caused his share of unintended drops and had not been wholly innocent in letting the warrior continue this time either, but the cruel way the man had woken himself up from it had been new to him. It was like the man had slapped himself in the face.

It had shaken the bard.

Immediately, he had brought out the big guns– correction, praise, physical reinforcement, positive wording… all after care methods he knew, he’d used. In a way, he knew he had stopped the spiral. The problem was that the poet knew Geralt was still confused. Maybe even more so than he had been before.

Which was _incredibly fucking frustrating_!

Because when the fighter’s calloused hands had started massaging him, Dandelion’s insides had rang with the purity of it and how right it had felt. Never before had he encountered such a feeling with anyone, yet there it was, the confirmation of what he had been suspecting for months. Only to now realize a repeat was probably impossible!

Disgruntled, Dandelion turned around in the bed and groaned at the realization.

It frustrated him endlessly. As an Alpha, he had noticed the Witcher’s sturdy frame and nice ass pretty quickly. Seeing as they became companions soon after, though, he had quietly revelled in the sight every now and then, but never acted. That had become more and more difficult lately, however, considering their intimate friendship. Where at first Geralt’s physical attributes had made Dandelion pause, slowly it had become thoughtful things like the Witcher passing him an apple or taking care of Pegasus for him when he was tired. He had found himself replaying conversations and noting different hobbies and likes of the man, as well as preferred treatments and how to get certain reactions out of him. At some point during the last time they had gone to Kaer Morhen, he had realized that to him, Geralt was becoming more than a friend.   
This had confused him. His mother and uncle had never seemed to feel the pull he now felt and he had never heard of Alphas living together like they had been doing for months.

It was only when they had arrived at Oxenfurt that the creative man had begun to suspect his burly friend might not be an Alpha. It had been the way he was so easily overwhelmed by the student body and how Dandelion’s pheromones could help him calm down. How he had seemed to release his stress with an Alpha’s hands on him, had preened at praise and not to forget, the purring he had let out for a millisecond. Really, the instant reaction to his Alpha voice had been Dandelion’s final confirmation.

He had thought of the idea of the Witcher being a Beta, before, of course. It had seemed like a plausible option considering his behaviour.

Somehow, the idea of him being an Omega had only stayed in fantasies. Ones that played out in his head on lonely nights when they had been separated. Ones where the man was wearing nothing but his jewelry and attached to the bed, pining to be touched and taken. Or ones where Geralt had been forced to pinch his nipples throughout the day and-

Dandelion coughed and hit his forehead. _Focus_.

In any case, the moment they had had the day before had left Dandelion thirsty and he had definitely not expected Geralt to react the way he had – to bring himself back up so horribly. Considering and all the stories Dandelion had heard about his youth, he surmised now it must have something to do with Geralt not wanting to be seen as an Omega. Besides, the man had all but told the bard that his sexuality had been drilled out of him, so it might not even be allowed by the Witcher code to be an Omega.

That seemed utterly impossible to Dandelion, considering the Omegas he’d known and how they got when they did not have their two-weekly drop. So in that sense, the white-haired man on the couch in front of him was an enigma.

Still, Dandelion knew that Geralt had sex, could go into subspace and listened to his Alpha voice. Thus, his basic needs as an Omega had not been diminished by his training – and maybe that was why he had been so difficult, lately. Hot and cold in situations, wanting to be bathed and then not wanting any help, seemingly very worried only to run away when wounds were being treated, going into subspace and then getting out of it himself…

It seemed to the bard that the man was desperately trying to deny himself what his body told him he needed.

This was problematic as Dandelion needed those things too. Progress had been made before, for sure, but the incident the night before had only shown how far there still was to go.

So, Dandelion decided, it was time he showed Geralt some more attention and made him realize what he was missing out on.

* * *

_Geralt_

The weather in Oxenfurt was getting worse and it was high time they were on their way to Kaer Morhen. The physical discomforts of Dandelion, however, made it impossible yet. So they had to stay in the city for a few more days while he healed completely.

During those days, Geralt worked on his potions tirelessly. Not solely because he was interested and needed the extra potions but also because he would not be confronted with Dandelion all day.

After massaging him, the Witcher was having a difficult time to focus on his mission instead of on the bard. Where he had been convinced before, his wall of conviction was starting to crumble now. The bard was proving to be such an exception to the rules he had been taught, that the warrior was having difficulties to stick to them. After all, how could an Alpha that cared for others, did not confront, mindlessly indulged their friends, barely used his Alpha voice and did not accept servants bowing for him, be the same as the ones he had been taught about? 

The man he shared his room with was nothing like those power hungry, manipulative and horrid Alphas the Witcher had encountered before and would never get into Geralt’s way on the Path. After all, he barely had before. Sure, he had gotten _himself_ in trouble, but he had never refused to let Geralt fight someone or something because he did not trust his capabilities. Nor had the man ever complained about their long treks, bad sleeping accommodations or food. In fact, Geralt was slowly concluding that the poet had been his best companion on his travels, yet.

So the experimental potions were a good distraction for himself to keep his mind blank. Coincidentally, they were a good reason not to look at Dandelion while the latter rambled on. Recently, the man had taken it upon himself to wear no more shirts. He claimed the room was too warm ever since the heating had been turned on and he could not be expected to sit fully clothed in a bed all day, anyway.

Initially, the Witcher had agreed with the sentiment – until he realized that meant the bard was always on display. When he walked around to practice his walking, when he ate dinner … Every time Geralt had turned around to converse with the man, he had been side tracked by the nakedness in front of him and mumbled the last parts of his sentences.   
Not the best way to win arguments.   
Nor the best way to stop thinking about massaging that stomach and how he had felt while Dandelion had brought him back up, after that.

Which he should not be thinking about. _Again_.

Frustrated, Geralt shook his head and turned to his potions. He forced himself to take note of how far he was in his process. So far, he had used his afternoon to top up the stores in his box with remedies. Now, he had composed the ingredients for new versions of Golden Oriole, Wives’ Tears and Thunderbolt in front of him. A small burner stood on the desk and the pot above it boiled quietly as Geralt scraped in the ingredients for Thunderbolt into it. He went through his knees while he did so, readying himself for the loud bang that would follow as he chanted the spell he had to. 

_Bang_

Dandelion screamed bloody murder after it had rang through the room.

“For God’s sake,” the bard cursed. “There was a time where the only thing I had to worry about was finding a bed for the night, not my life!”

The poet went off on a tangent that Geralt ignored, but could not help but hear some parts of. Descriptions of how he used to only worry about songs and Omegas, chastising phrases regarding respecting other people’s boundaries and physical impairments…

Rolling his eyes, the warrior’s hands went through the motions of making the brews he needed while he knew Dandelion watched.

The man was always watching, these days. Every time Geralt turned to enquire, discuss or contradict the man, his eyes had been on him. Not even on his head, sometimes. They would drag upwards slowly in those moments, like they were savouring the sight in front of him. Just like those hooded blue eyes had been staring at him after his application of the salve. The sight had made him wake up in the middle of the night more than once. It was maddening.

Just like it was right now. It made something in his gut roil and the tension was everywhere in his body. Dandelion seemed unaffected, for he babbled on. Until he stopped and Geralt heard a questioning tone ring through the room.

He looked back at the half-naked bard.

“Sorry?”

“I said, I forgot to tell you we’re having dinner with Shani at half past six. I set it up while you were gone with Roach this morning. I figured it was a nice way to celebrate I can walk again.”

The Witcher frowned and looked at the clock. It was almost time and he would have no opportunity to bathe and get rid of the smell of horse and herbs. He looked down at his clothing and sniffed them. His eyes roamed the herbs in front of him, looking for something that smelled nice. Like lavender or lemon zest.

“Don’t worry, Geralt. You clean up and I’ll pick out something nice for you.”

He whirled around.

“The last time you did that, everybody saw through it.”

Dandelion smiled broadly.

“But this time, I won’t be trying to make you blend in. This time, I’ll have you wear what I think looks best on you.”

The Witcher squinted at the bard, then turned around. Glancing back at the man over his shoulder, their eyes met.

“Please, Geralt? It’ll be a better choice than when you have to decide.”

Consideration drifted over Geralt’s face. It was only clothes. Besides, the fighter was known to dress inappropriately for the right events. He looked down at his armor on the floor and then shrugged. There was nothing wrong with the plan, and besides, he really did need his time to clean up.

He grunted and pointed at his bag, giving Dandelion free reign while he stowed things away.

Delighted, the bard stood and made his way to it. The fire beneath the cauldron in front of the warrior dimmed and smoked when Geralt doused it with water, just to be safe. The Thunderbolt would not be ready for another three hours and he was not planning to leave an unsupervised fire in such an old building.

By the time he had safely stored all items in their rightful places, he turned around and looked for the poet. He found him standing on the other side of the bed in a turquoise dress shirt and doublet. They complimented his eyes, the Witcher noticed.  
The slender man stood in front of three outfits laid out in front of him. Blue eyes flitted back and forth from the clothing to Geralt. As he was being scrutinised, Geralt squirmed internally. His Omega was desperate to please and the warrior had a hard time hammering it down.

“I think I like you best in the forest green shirt… it contrasts your eyes. Plus, it’s not that long. Here, put it on,” he ordered, throwing the green shirt in Geralt’s direction though he was way too far to reach. The Witcher dashed towards it and caught it just before it hit the ground. When he glared up at the bard, the man grinned. “See, I knew you liked the shirt!”

Geralt rolled his eyes and removed his own shirt next to the bed. While he went for the green one, he glanced at Dandelion to find him watching. His skin tingled at the realization. When he shrugged on the shirt, Dandelion gestured with his fingers to make a twirl.

Wordlessly, Geralt did so with an exasperated look, though his inner Omega was whining.

“Good! Very good,” the poet agreed with himself. The voice in Geralt’s head stopped at the praise and it was a blessed relief. Then Dandelion focused on his trousers with a small smile. After a moment he held up the sturdy black, fitted trousers for fighting and a pair of briefs. “I think these would fit that best. Yes. They bring out the green, too. Here.”

With an offhand motion, he passed the trousers and briefs to the Witcher. The man stripped himself of his own and pulled up the new setup, tightening his trousers quickly. The moment he was done, Dandelion nodded.

“Right, yes. Turn around please, Geralt. I need to see the whole ensemble,” he told the man. Then winked and sang: “Art takes effort.”

While Geralt turned around slowly, he felt some tension build up inside him. The thought of this man choosing what fit him best for what occasion, riled him up. In front of him, Dandelion was clearly observing him, staring at him unabashedly. It felt good to Geralt- like the man in front of him was taking his time to indulge in him.

Then the man grinned like a Cheshire cat after he had seen the back of the warrior.

“O, yes. Yes, this will do nicely. Those trousers are just tight enough,” he confirmed.

The comment struck Geralt’s core like lightning and suspicion started to arise. But the Omega in Geralt preened at the praise and Geralt … could not help but feel the same. It was nice to be told how good he looked. How he would make others look at him in this outfit, or at least, would make Dandelion do a double take.

“Good, this is superb,” Dandelion sing-songed.

Then he passed by Geralt and gave him his shoes. He walked over to the front door while waiting for the man to get them on. The moment the Witcher walked over, the bard raised an eyebrow at the manner in which Geralt looked away. At the doorway, Dandelion paused in opening the door until their eyes met again.

“No looking down, Geralt. You need to see people notice you, while knowing you’re wearing this for me.” He opened the door. Then his smile turned feral as he leaned over to whisper in the warrior’s ear. “Knowing that they have no clue how good you’re feeling because you’re being _such a good boy_.”

The Witcher did not move as he stared at Dandelion. As the praise made his Omega settle down obediently. The bard slipped through the opening first, waving at Geralt to follow suit as he walked down the hallway.

It took quite a while for Geralt to coherently answer the man. To give him a piece of his mind and tell him wat he really thought.

“I’m not a _boy._ ”

He hit his head at the words. The poet merely shrugged while he went down the stairs ahead of him.

* * *

After that comment, the Witcher had a hard time keeping still all night.

They sat in a high-walled booth on the left side of the dining hall, secluded from others, and the lack of distraction did not help Geralt’s thoughts. Every time he had finally managed to answer Shani seriously or go into a train of thought, he’d see Dandelion looking at him and he’d be at a loss for words.

So simple – it had been such a simple question. Whether he could pick out something nice for him. Had Dandelion known the effect it would have on Geralt, his words? The thought that the clothing he was wearing showed the bard’s preferences? The thought that he was obeying someone just for the sake of it?

Maybe.

Either way, here he was, cocooned by a feeling of desire, of certainty that this one person thought he looked desirable like this. That one person considered his eyes something interesting, that one person liked how these trousers put his body on display. That one person knew how it made his body tingle and shiver, how the fabric of the shirt would scrape against his skin.

The feeling was only enhanced any time Shani left for the bathroom and Dandelion barely payed any attention to him, until he would suddenly look up and smile at his shirt. Then, he would let his eyes roam over the man languidly, before slowly meeting his eyes and turning his head so his Alpha mark was visible to Geralt. It would end with him sniffing the air and smiling even broader at the smell of Geralt’s arousal. 

The action made their situation so intimate it made Geralt blush, though he did not look away. It was also, however, so generic that he could not say anything about it. Surely, one could not protest to a friend that they were looking at them wrongly in the middle of a dining hall. Yet he wanted to- felt like he should, because he was halfhard already and on his way to a full on hardon in the middle of a _restaurant_.

Instead, he had huffed and looked away.

The bard had grinned at that, but had refrained from speaking. He had calmly eaten the rest of his food while looking at him. It had been an impossible situation for Geralt, but it had made him feel absolutely sinful while he wore the outfit, when there was nothing wrong with it.

Geralt was saved by Shani, who came back. She interrupted their eating to announce she was now dating the headmaster, which was unexpected. Both pairs of ears turned her way as they forced her to tell them the story of how that had happened. Dandelion praised Geralt for pushing the woman to do so while he was knocked prone. A shrug had been his only answer, since Shani started explaining how their first date had been.

After a while, Geralt excused himself and went for the restroom. At the threshold of the dining hall, he glanced back fleetingly, only to see Dandelion’s eyes rest on his back.

When their eyes met, Dandelion was sporting an absolutely evil smile. His left eyebrow slowly went up and he showed him his mark.

 _Fuck_.

The Witcher all but sprinted to the restrooms.

Locking himself in a stall, he sat down and leaned over his legs, breathing ragged. The fabric of his trousers rubbed him as he loosened them, giving himself some respite- he was half-mast _again_. He worried how he was going to get through the night at this point. Really, what kind of game was Dandelion playing?

It was ridiculous how much this affected him. Especially considering he was a Witcher and should not care what clothing he wore. His whole being should be unaffected by the fact that there was someone who liked him in a specific getup. He should not find any of this arousing, at all. He had been specifically trained to withstand any sort of stereotypical behaviour and dominant Alpha male behaviour. The thought of an Alpha finding him attractive should leave him cold.

Yet, those had been different Alphas with different methods. Vesemir had never prepared him for this mental game, this sexual tension and heightening of his own senses for an Alpha. The teacher had given him the ability to resist commands, had given him the option to not be affected by the pheromones. Made it so Geralt could ignore the Omega inside during battles and in generic situations. Never had they focused on Dandelion’s kind of Alpha.

But now, his Omega was preening at the attention he was receiving from the man. Its relief grew bigger every time their eyes met or Dandelion regarded him. But there was more. It shocked the Witcher to realize that it was not only the Omega in him that liked it – all of him did.

He tried to stop his mind, but… The casual looks of the man, the deliberate gaze on his shirt, the proud smile when Shani had complimented Geralt’s attire, the alpha mark on full display, _being a good boy_ … they brought a tension to his body that was addictive, that he wanted more of. And thought he knew it was wrong to give in to it, knew this way of life could not work with his Path, he craved more.

Groaning, he saw that he had stiffened fully and grabbed his cock by the base.

Once more, he saw the man raise his eyebrow and show his Alpha mark where everyone could see him and the blatant display of power. Could see those blue eyes twinkle during his deliberate sniffing of the air, even though Geralt had been able to smell the man’s arousal just as much.

Slowly he started rubbing his cock up and down.

He bit his lip as he pushed himself down onto the toilet to ground himself.

As he touched himself, he thought of the words Dandelion had spoken to him, how he had observed him as he had gotten dressed. His arousal spiked and when he got to the head of his cock, he twisted his hand the way he liked it.

Lost in desire, he remembered enduring Dandelion’s drawn out, languid stares during their dinner. Those eyes had seemed to pierce through him, see how much he had been enjoying being dressed for Dandelion’s pleasure and no one else’s. It felt positively filthy, just like the fact that he had not looked away. How he had followed an order and how good it felt to have done so.

He bucked his hips and his hardened nipples chafed against the green linen shirt in a delicious way.

The shirt Dandelion had chosen because it brought out his eyes and -was short? It dawned on Geralt that his _tight trousers_ would therefore show off his backside more and- _Oh_.

He bit his lip as his hands quickened. He thought of the feral smile Dandelion had sent him when he was crossing the threshold, after dragging his eyes away from Geralt’s body and though he had suspected the man had been ogling him, the realization the man had deliberately dressed him for such an occasion where he would leave, made him burn all over.

He felt feverish, driven to madness as he neared his edge.

The thought of walking back out to the other two, Dandelion being able to smell what had happened to Geralt in the air, made him bite back a groan and come in his hand.

As he rode out the waves of his release, he panted quietly.

It took some time for him to get back into reality again. When he finally did so, he looked at his messy hands, the cum on his abdomen and leaned back with a long sigh. With a piece of paper he cleaned himself and used the toilet to pee, after.

Tucking himself away, he lowered his shirt again and looked down at himself. He hoped Shani would not smell it.

* * *

When he walked back to the table, Dandelion and Shani welcomed him warmly. The moment Shani looked away, Dandelion gave the warrior a long look, though, and smiled secretively. Smiled so sexily that Geralt instantly pushed his legs together again, feeling another erection coming up.

Unconsciously he scooted closer to the edge of the table to make sure nobody saw. Dandelion noticed, of course. He looked at the man’s torso and raised an eyebrow while still grinning, but refrained from commenting.

After that, he left Geralt in peace.

Occasionally, he would look at the man appreciatively, but not as obvious as before. Finally, they were able to dive into an actual conversation with Shani about monsters and Dopplers, discussing rumors of drowners in a nearby river. Apparently, they had been dragging fishermen from a local village from their boats, leaving only empty ships to crash ashore days later. The village was about an hour’s ride away and the Witcher quickly decided it would be their next destination. The Dean warned them that it would be a hostile village considering their religious nature, but Dandelion assured them all that his ballads would mesmerize the villagers either way. The others heavily doubted this assumption, but Geralt was used to a cold reception and decided not to test the poet on it. Lest he be hearing ballads for the following four days until they would got there.

The Witcher did not dislike the singing of the bard – it had become a lullaby he could quite easily sink into and be warmed by, next to a calming factor when he felt stressed. No, he did not dislike it, but like with all things, they should be consumed in small bits at a time.

As they discussed the specific day they should be leaving, Shani paid for their dinner.

They left the dining hall to head to bed. She had an early class the next morning and Dandelion and Geralt were not planning to ruin her reputation even further by getting her drunk and late for class the next day. Her reputation had been tarnished enough, they had all decided.

With a promise to say goodbye before they left, Dandelion and Geralt turned a left where she went right and while waving, ascended the stairs. At their front door, Dandelion let Geralt go first as always. It did not even make Geralt pause, this time – he just walked through without any difficulty.

Behind him, Dandelion shook his head with a frown before he followed in and closed the door behind them.

Inside the room the air was toasty. It smelled like Geralt’s potions, Roach and an undertone of cinnamon that wafted through the room towards him. The bedroll on the couch was calling to Geralt, whose calloused fingers looked forward to feeling the soft fabric beneath his hands, but he figured he was due a bath.

While the poet rambled on about their dinner, the Witcher walked on into the bathroom and turned on the water tap while he listened.

“… should definitely come back here next year to visit Shani. She is such a dear, don’t you think? It was such a good surprise, that there was a new autumn menu!”

The fighter grunted. He had been pleasantly surprised by a lot of things, that night.

“In any case, you looked very dashing tonight. Well done,” Dandelion said with a wink through the bathroom door.

Geralt stopped his rooting around the bathroom for a second, then continued looking for towels and some soap. He tried to ignore the feelings he’d had that night, and what had happened in the bathroom especially.

After some doubting moves towards the bathroom and then a deep breath, Dandelion was in the room too.

“Here, let me get that. I want to take a bath after you, anyway. You get the bath sorted.”

“Fine, but then leave me be.”

Not worried about his ornery reply, the writer started digging around in the cabinet for the luxurious towels Geralt had been looking for. They were soft enough to not stimulate and smelled blandly enough to be no tax on his nose.   
Meanwhile the white-haired man started taking off his shoes and socks. When the younger one looked over, he tutted.

“I didn’t tell you you were allowed to take them off, yet,” he said with a playful tone and a wink.

The reprimand made Geralt’s Omega wince, but the Witcher was relieved to find that it did not hurt as much as he would have thought it would, now that he had lowered some of his walls for Dandelion. His Witcher instincts were still intact, apparently. He could still deal with the cold sting of rejection easily and that was a positive discovery.

So, his reply came easily.

“I’m allowed to do anything. I do what I want,” he countered.

That made Dandelion pause his movements and stick his head out of the cabinet. He watched as the buff man in front of him removed his trousers with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Of course you do. And you should. But didn’t you like doing what I wanted, tonight, regardless?”

The words clanged through Geralt’s mind. His head whipped to Dandelion, his trousers still halfway down. Those heady blues were upon him. When their eyes met, his heart throbbed. As did his manhood.  
  
His yellow eyes were on the younger man in front of him as he considered the words. The tone had been innocent, normal. A regular conversation, like he had been testing the waters. Nothing curious, no questions being asked. And Geralt knew that he had to shut it down, hammer it into oblivion, but Dandelion was his close friend. He did not deserve a lie, nor did Geralt feel like giving one.

The bard moved around the room with a bottle of citrusy oil and walked over to the bath, pouring it in royally as he waited for a reply. When there was none, his eyes slyly slid over to the man again.

“It looked like it,” he continued with a shrug. His blue eyes seemed to be piercing through any armor Geralt could possibly be wearing. He felt naked, when he was still wearing his briefs and shirt. “Especially when you came back from the bathroom.”

There was a twinkle on that devilish face at the last word. The words wrapped around Geralt like a blanket, smothering him and at the same time, laying everything bare. He knew- Dandelion _knew_. Knew how hard he’d come, how affected he’d been by wearing clothes picked out by another.

He stood ramrod straight, no response at all.

Dandelion raised a hand in the air and walked out of the bathroom. His air was one of carelessness. When he held the doorknob in his hand, he turned back to the Witcher, who had followed his every move. His hand caressed the handle mindlessly.

“Don’t worry, Geralt. It’ll be our little secret.”

Then he closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I struggled to make this smooth but with Geralt being so difficult about it all there had to be someone to take the initiative and who better to do it than Dandelion by showing Geralt it can be nice to follow orders, too! So.. it's not smooth. Sorry about that or if it seems OOC. I was stuck!
> 
> Anyway I know this doesn't count as smut but it sure felt like it when writing it. In any case, for the real smut you can read my new oneshot, too.  
> In any case, let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, find me on tumblr @ aseriesoffunfortunateevents! I need friends!


	12. In which Dandelion confronts

# Chapter 12

Ever since then, Geralt had been annoyed and exasperated, having slept very little the nights before. And as a Witcher, he always slept poorly. But this...

He had lain awake for hours, whole nights even. The only sleep he found were a few lost minutes.

For hours Geralt had stared at the ceiling above him, had spent minutes listening to the soft snoring of the bard on the bed. It had not helped to try to calm down his mind from its frazzled state, nor the high his body had been on ever since they had gone for dinner. The only thing it had done was create a never ending circle of thoughts going from dressing up for Dandelion to thinking about his own problems.

Therefore, when Dandelion had left the rooms in the mornings, to attend mandatory board meetings and practice his walking, Geralt had barely acknowledged him. In fact, he had been hoping it would mean he could finally get some more sleep. Alas, that was not the case.

Each time Dandelion had come back, the Witcher had still been wide awake. So he had continued on his potions during the days and hoped the poet would not mention any events from before with vigour. It would be awkward.

Instead of Dandelion jabbering his ears off, though, the man managed to make it even more awkward by _not_ doing so. He had been uncharacteristically silent.

The whole ordeal had made Geralt so confused that at the end of the second day, he had exclaimed he would go out for a ride. Roach had appreciated the extra attention and they had spent the better part of three hours on the road. It had both helped her and Geralt.

He had been feeling so confused it had been good to be alone with his thoughts, amidst nature. A place where there was no judgement, no rules to follow. He could think for himself and not feel obligated to feel one way or the other. Because that was what had stayed with him the most, from the day before.

The bard had told him everybody was more than just their Alpha, Beta or Omega identity. And that had struck a chord. Of course Geralt was more than just an Omega – he had spent his whole life proving that was the case. Just like Dandelion was not the regular Alpha.

How could he be, with his arts, singing and his social behaviour. The man would never be able to put a dent in someone else’s form, let alone draw out a monster. Dandelion would not be one to seek them out; he had always left that to Geralt before and he did not seem like he would want to do so, soon, either. The man had proven to be trustworthy during their long friendship, helping him in is time of need and the other way around.

All this time, Dandelion had been an addition to his Path. 

In fact, hadn’t all his brothers in effect said the same? The times he had taken Dandelion to Kaer Morhen, none of them had complained. Nobody had voiced any concerns nor worried about the fact that Geralt, their Omega brother, had brought an Alpha with him during winter. In fact, Geralt distinctly remembered that Eskel had seemed surprised when Geralt had asked for his last drop.

Since there had never been a warning, the warrior realized his family must consider Dandelion safe and not a threat. They must have … approved of such a companion on his Path. And the question that kept popping up in his head was, if they approved, why wouldn’t he?

The only problem he could see was being ordered around while on his mission. The day before had been a good example of a way of life Geralt could not have. Still, the orders had been very innocent and had it not been Geralt more than his Omega that had followed them?   
Besides, the orders had been given in a normal voice. Dandelion had actually never used his Alpha voice except for when it saved lives. And Dandelion had agreed that he should not be ordered around, so it seemed he would never use it unless in an innocent way. So it seemed like Dandelion would not be a threat to his mission in this way either.

That did leave the fact that Geralt had been raised to think he was to do it all alone, like the rest, though, and it was something he kept coming back to all day.

But to be honest, hadn’t he been with Dandelion for years already? Had his incessant talking not already followed him around for a decade, and had it helped or worked against him? Had his brothers not accepted the poet into their midst, regardless?

Maybe it was time Geralt realized that because he was not a normal Omega and Dandelion was not a normal Alpha, nothing about them together would ever be normal, either. Nor would his path as a Witcher.

* * *

It was only after two days of thinking and sleeping badly that Geralt had realized that he was not the only contemplative one.

For days, Dandelion had only been stringing the lute the Academy had gifted him and reading books whenever they were together. Gone were the ridiculous anecdotes and impossibly fantastical stories, gone was the incessant laughter about situations that were not funny at all – the bard had become silent.

It was eerie, really, and at the end of the second day, he had become worried.

When he came home from his ride with Roach, he had walked the last steps to the Academy instead of sitting astride her. They had been gone on a scouting mission to the river for four hours and he had hurried her along, so she deserved a rest. When he crossed the gates of the back entry to the courtyard in front of the stables, he heard rather than saw the bard.

The brown haired man sat under a tree with his eyes closed and enjoyed the rare spot of sunshine the day had offered. He was leaning back against it with his head and the lines of his jaw stood out as a result. He was wearing a turquoise shirt with a crimson doublet over it and it fit him just right.

The Witcher watched the man as he strummed the strings of his new lute and hummed a melody. Sometimes he would sing a few choice words of the song, other times he would stay silent. When he opened one eye and spotted Geralt, the bard waved at him.

“Geralt! Hi! I was just out for a walk.”

The warrior gave him a pointed look.

“I see you got very far,” he commented drily. When the bard hurried to stand, the white-haired man urged Roach to walk and they strolled to the stables together. “But it’s good to see you can.”

“Oh, I’ve been walking for days now. I’m ready to head out the day after tomorrow – I am done with these four walls around us and all this wealth and prejudice. How was the scouting mission?” The Witcher blinked. Babbling- this was babbling. “I presume all went well, considering you are not covered in guts or other?”

Geralt was at a loss for words, his heart doing a little dance at the sight of his poet back to normal. There were sparks in his blue eyes again and there was that jaunty sway to his hips while he walked.

Not sure how to respond, the Witcher grunted. Dandelion nodded.

“Good, good, I figured. Now, I have asked the servants to help us pack tomorrow night, is there anything else we need? Do we need more out of town?”

The practical question got Geralt thinking. He led Roach and the poet into the stables and started unsaddling his horse. His answer came slowly.

“I’ve replenished all my potions, so as long as we have some food to last us some days, we should be good.”

He rubbed Roach down and checked her right hoof while they spoke.

“Yes, okay. I’ll get some of my oils then – don’t look at me like that, I know you like them – and that’ll be all? No rust solvent or wax at all?” That made Geralt pause. Then he shook his head. He should be fine with what he had left until they got to Kaer Morhen for the winter. “Okay, fine.”

“We’re good to go,” the Witcher confirmed.

Dandelion leaned out of the stable box to look around and then leaned in again.

“Also, I forgot to tell you, Shani asked you to come by about a potion and Nicodemus wants to eat with us tomorrow,” he said. The Witcher shrugged at the words – good food was always welcome. “So you’ll have to wear something nice again.”

When Geralt’s head whipped around at that, the man winked at him secretively. There was no time to respond before Dandelion walked out. Reeling, the Witcher slowly moved back to check the last hoof. The bard brought back a bucket of oats for Roach and topped up the water.

“Ready?”

Saved from a reply, the warrior grunted and patted Roach on her behind. She snorted in her oats but continued eating happily.

Geralt fell into step next to Dandelion and they walked into the staff building in a companionable silence. Inside, Dandelion pointed out the paintings they had been walking past with old headmasters and acquaintances of his. The craftmanship of the artists was sublime, Geralt thought, considering how real the men looked. He wondered if he should give something like that to Vesemir sometime, but then figured Lambert would probably doodle all over it the first chance he got.

While Dandelion happily babbled away about trends in beards and glasses, Geralt chimed in every now and then to comment upon the practicality of their clothing. The second to last before the staircase had blonde, short hair, bushy eyebrows and a round face.

“Ah, he was the headmaster when I started here,” Dandelion said with a pointed nod. Then stepped to the next painting and sighed his next words. “But he was surpassed by this god, and I had a huge thing for his hairdo. I loved it, but long hair never suited me. It would look great on you, too, I think.”

The man was of middle age, with a trimmed black beard and black hair. His face was directed sideways to proudly depict his Alpha sign – as had all others in the paintings. It did mean that his hairstyle was clearly visible, though. He wore the top half of his hair to the back, where he had braided it. Similar to the Witcher’s hair already, albeit a more northern style.

While the bard talked to him about the man and explained how important he had been for inclusion in the Academy, Geralt looked at the hairstyle. After Dandelion’s comment, he wondered how it would look on him, too. But he could not braid and he should not- _would not_ ask Dandelion to braid his hair like that. It was too intimate, an action between a regular Alpha and Omega and Geralt could not go there.

Still, it made him ache for it.

It made him wonder all the way to their room what it would do to Dandelion to see him wear his hair like that. There had been no demand or order, but after wearing clothing the bard liked, Geralt was curious about his reaction. The poet had said it had done things to him, too, before. He would love to see the look on Dandelion’s face when he realized Geralt had changed his hairstyle for him.

The fact that he could not do so made him feel robbed.

When they continued on their merry way, Geralt tried to distract himself. They chatted about the new lute of Dandelion and how it differed from the old one and Dandelion told him a funny story about how he had broken his first lute on a statue, but it did not help.

In fact, it just made him think about it some more.

When they entered the room, then, Geralt immediately went for the bathroom and closed the door behind himself. He sat on the toilet for quite a while, composing himself, wondering why this was getting to him so much, but he could not for the life of him figure out why.

Then, he spotted his green shirt on the laundry rack.

And he did not know why, could not bring out a coherent reason, but after he’d used a cloth to freshen up for his meeting with Shani, he donned the green shirt and walked out.

As he’d walked out though, his Witcher hearing heard a heart skip a beat. When he looked over at Dandelion, the man’s eyes raked up and down his body and then smiled at him in praise.

* * *

The meeting with Shani after dinner had turned out to be valuable in the end. She had found some extra notes on Witcher experimentation in their biological library and had gone through them with him to find the recipes for the potions and spells they used to use. Considering the fact that all who knew their composition had perished, Geralt had thanked the dean profusely for any knowledge they gained from it in advance. In the end, they had only gleaned the ingredients of two trial potions from it, but Geralt had copied them twice just in case and hoped they corresponded with the notes Vesemir had on them. Shani’s material was over a century old and lots had changed, but who was to say their mutagen potions had changed, too?

So when he had come back to their halls, he had been in a pretty good mood.

Apparently, so had Dandelion been, for he had ordered up a cheese and meat platter and waved him over with a cheeky smile when he came in. Together, they had devoured the platter before deciding it was time for bed.

Dandelion hobbled over to the bed and changed into his briefs. He had taken to not wearing his nightgown any more, either. Geralt cursed his wandering eyes while he went for his nightgown in the bathroom. It had been washed, the day before. 

When he came back with it in his hands, he went to the sofa that was still turned to the bed and had his bedroll on it. Dandelion was sitting on the bed and made a minute sound when he walked out.

“That shirt really does wonders for you, Geralt, just like your black shirt,” he sighed. He looked at the bedding, then back to the Witcher. The warrior looked at his green shirt and glanced back. Dandelion stared at the white-haired man enquiringly. “Did you wear it for me?”

Only six little words and a pair of blue eyes. Still, Geralt felt his heartbeat quicken and his knob respond. Yes, he thought, and it finally made sense. Of course he had. Because he could not go for that hairstyle, because he could not please.   
But he could not say that.

“I don’t do anything for anyone but myself.”

Those electrifying blue eyes looked down as those lips formed a disappointed O.

“Oh. Well, I would not mind if you had, though. In fact, I would love the idea, Geralt. It… would make me feel honoured,” he said with hesitation.

His naked torso bent over like he was protecting himself. It was like he felt like an idiot to think so. But he was not, and Geralt could not stop the words that followed.

“I could not help it.”

The confession was still fresh on the Witcher’s tongue when Dandelion’s eyes met his. He wondered if he could drown in someone’s eyes. Really, those eyes were going to be the death of him. This man was going to be the death of him.

“So… you _did_ do it for me,” the poet asked. He bit his lip when Geralt nodded once. His eyes came back to Geralt’s and it felt like they were meant to be there all along. “So… you _did_ like wearing clothes for me then?”

He gestures wildly at the clothes Geralt was wearing. Slowly, the older man’s gaze shifted to his own clothing and he tried to buy time to not react and worked on his boots. But Dandelion was having none of it and stood, too.

There was a gasp from his direction. Geralt looked back.

“Geralt, there is a stain on the back of your shirt. Turn around,” the bard said. Geralt looked back around with a frown, but Dandelion gestured for him to turn with fake posterity. The change in subject baffled him, but the Witcher did as he was told. After all, he did not have many shirts. “It will need treatment. Here, let me get it before the stain becomes bigger. Arms up.”

Before the Witcher knew what was happening, there were two hands on his hips that made their way up under his shirt. Slowly, with a glacial pace, they moved up his torso and his back, pushing the fabric of his shirt up as well. The hands were warm and soft and everything Geralt knew Dandelion’s hands would be.

And they felt so right he could not stop them, and instead raised his hands so the man could follow through all the way to the tops of his fingers as he pulled off the shirt. When he had dropped it on the bed next to him, Dandelion put his hands on Geralt’s shoulders again. Kneaded the skin a bit, then leaned his head against his spine.

It was unexpected, but Geralt could not say no. He was mesmerized by the feeling of Dandelion’s skin against his and wished the bard would stand closer. Would align their bodies so he could feel the man all around him.

“Geralt? Tell me,” he speaks against Geralt’s back. The breath against his back made the warrior shiver. “Did you? Because I did and I would like to know … whether or not I’m alone in this?”

The Witcher whined, torn between telling the truth and outing himself. Dandelion’s hands let go of his shoulder and slid down in a wonderful, sinful way. Then they embraced Geralt from behind, his arms looping around his stomach and pulling the man against him.

“Geralt?”

The feel of their naked skin touching was too much for the Witcher and he was lost in it. He never realized how broad Dandelion’s shoulders were, nor how far his arms could reach.

When he leaned back into the embrace, the bard groaned against Geralt’s shoulders, lips pressing against his right shoulder. The hands of the poet started moving coaxingly, up and down his torso. Over his pectorals, just shy of his nipples, down his muscles until his navel and then up again. The touch was heavenly and Geralt sighed in bliss. His cock was twitching in his pants.

But Dandelion was still focused.

“Geralt,” he whispered against his ear.

The word was punctuated with a scrape of his nails against skin and Geralt hissed.

The older man turned his head sideways and looked at the bard. He was so close, the Witcher could count his lashes. Could see specks of green in his blue eyes and how red his lips really were up close. It made Geralt breathe in deeply, smelling the tones of cinnamon and forest and Dandelion’s pheromones that were like honey.

Before he could drift away again, Dandelion’s nails dragged down again. He hissed.

“Yes,” Geralt growled against the man’s face.

The nails vanished and Dandelion pulled his head back. He watched the older man for a while, but then broke out into a huge grin. With force he pushed his forehead against Geralt’s and pulled him closer against him so they were touching fully.

“Good boy,” Dandelion whispered in awe. He crushed Geralt’s lips with his.

Instantly, Geralt felt heat raze through his whole being. Cinnamon was all around him and so was Dandelion. The words resonated in his head. Dandelion pulled back, but Geralt followed. The bard pushed forward again and Geralt kissed back with need, trying to turn around. The bard did not let him, though, punctuating his choice by letting his hands wander on the Witcher’s torso.

The lips of the bard were so soft yet so demanding and Geralt felt that they balanced out his own perfectly. When he chased, Dandelion gave way and when Dandelion took over, Geralt let him willingly.

His taste was addictive, just like his touch and smell were. Now that he finally had more, Geralt could not help but crave it. He wanted to touch the man too and give him what he deserved. The Witcher wanted to bring him whatever pleasure he could in whatever way he could, and that made him feel so filthy he moaned.   
It left him wanting more, just like Dandelion’s touches did.

When he tried to turn around again, Dandelion tutted and let go of his lips to look down.

“No, I like being able to touch you like this. I think you might, too,” he explained. Geralt frowned at the man, but when Dandelion’s finger slowly started circling his nipples, he leaned his head against Dandelion’s. “See?”

Pushing back against the bard to create more friction between them, Geralt moaned quietly against the other’s throat. His hands gripped Dandelion’s arms and held on tightly. The fingers kept rubbing around the nipples that had slowly pebbled and Geralt was aching to be touched there. He squeezed the arms in need.

“Yes, darling, I know. I’ve got you,” Dandelion whispered. His alpha sign was right in front of the warrior and his pheromones were all around him, dragging him down with him. “You’re so pretty for me like this. Just like when you wore that shirt for me. Oh, you must have felt so aroused feeling it drag over these nipples.”

A confirming groan escaped Geralt’s throat and the Alpha next to him swallowed, then chuckled. The hands of the bard went up and down past the nipples again and disregarded them for some time, every now and then rounding back to Geralt’s behind and squeezing. When Geralt whined at the loss of stimulation, the Alpha next to him groaned, kissing his head.

“Hmm, yes. Here you go,” he answered before he pinched his nipples simultaneously and made Geralt moan loudly through the room before he pushed his face into Dandelion’s neck. The man continued playing with his nipples as he talked. “Does this feel good? Having your nipples pinched like this is nice, isn’t it? I wonder if you did so when you went to the toilet, during that dinner.”

Geralt shook his head.

“No,” he breathed.

“No? Then what did you do,” the poet wondered aloud, pinching them alternatingly while they talked.

Flashes of arousal went through Geralt’s body at the conversation they were having and his cock was straining against his pants now – as was Dandelion’s behind him.

“I… touched myself.”

A long, drawn-out moan was his answer and Dandelion pinched both his nipples in arousal.

“So you came in that bathroom and then sat with us again.. Oh, Geralt, I did not give you enough credit.. You are _such_ a good boy.”

With a pull, he pulled Geralt around and kissed him fully on the mouth, filled with lust. Each push, Geralt gave into and each pull, Geralt chased. They stood like that, Dandelion toying with his nipples, for quite some time. It was heaven on earth and the Witcher could not help but slide down into his head, deeper and deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay so I am also doing Nanowrimo this month with a different story so no updates until December I think - but I read this part through this morning and figured it was good enough to be posted in any case!  
> Hope you like it, please let me know what you think, I hope you guys like it as much as I did when I reread!!!


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